Evergreen
by geraldine01
Summary: The Lancer brothers, Johnny and Scott, do a good deed and find themselves stuck in a snowy, hostile location. Scott becomes deathly ill, and despite everything Johnny does, he fears his brother won't make it. Genre: family, gen, adventure. 14 chapters, 34,000 words, Written in April 2009
1. Chapter 1

Fandom: Lancer  
Rating: PG  
Genre: family, gen, adventure  
14 chapters, 34,000 words, Written in April 2009  
Synopsis: The Lancer brothers do a good deed and find themselves stuck in a snowy, hostile location.

Note: I'm adding some of my stories here at FF, those I wrote many years ago. I'm not going over them thoroughly as I know I would feel compelled to re-write them. So here is another of my early tales, about the Lancer brothers. I appreciate comments, even after all this time, so please review!

 **Evergreen**

 **Chapter 1**

Johnny removed his hat for the umpteenth time and shook off the snow that had accumulated on its brim. After shoving it back on his head, he pulled his thick wool scarf up over his nose and mouth and exhaled damply into the fibers. It was so cold that his hands ached, but he gave his horse a light kick with his heels to encourage him to plow through the drifting snow that blocked the narrow road. Once he was moving, Johnny looked back to see if his brother was doing okay but was alarmed to see that Scott was slumped over the saddle. He quickly turned his horse and rode back to Scott's side.

As soon as Johnny's gloved hand touched Scott's arm, the blond man's head jerked up. Looking at Johnny through bleary eyes, Scott made a feeble attempt at a smile. He croaked out, "I'm fine," but then teetered to one side.

"Hey, hey!" Johnny reached out and steadied his brother before he fell off his horse.

Scott's eyes flew open. He blindly reached for Johnny's shoulder, righted himself in the saddle then shuddered. "I'm. . .so c…cold. I think I caught something. . .the grippe."

"Damn it! I knew we shouldn't have made that delivery to High Pass. We shoulda just kept on goin' and we'd have been back home by now." Johnny tore off his glove and felt Scott's forehead. It felt hot, but what with his fingers being so cold anything would feel warm in comparison. "Just hang on and we'll find shelter."

Scott nodded but his desultory glance around and the wide-open expanse of nothing but the stark whiteness that surrounded them showed he wasn't too hopeful. He wore his hat low on his forehead and had a long knitted muffler wound around his face, which provided some protection from the cold. He squinted against the icy snowflakes that felt like needles as they hit his cheeks and nose. "Small flakes, big storm," he mumbled.

Johnny tipped his head back to look at the snow falling steadily from the slate gray sky. His muffler slipped down and a clump of snowflakes landed on his lips. It was indeed coming down in small flakes and had already coated the brim of his hat once again. He sniffed and swiped the back of his gloved hand across his nose before pulling his muffler back up to protect his lower face. "C'mon, we can't sit here any longer or they won't dig us out 'til Spring." He took hold of Scott's horse's reins and led the reluctant animal through the snowdrift that blocked the trail. Every now and then he looked over his shoulder to check on Scott, but it looked like his brother was holding his own. . . for now.

They had been told it wouldn't snow so early, and even if it did, it would surely be only a dusting. So much for expert advice, Johnny thought bitterly.

It was getting dark even though Johnny was sure it wasn't much after noon. The open terrain soon gave way to woods. What had been a wide road narrowed into a trail that ran straight between the pale gray trees on fairly level ground. Within a short time the woods became so thick Johnny couldn't see more than a few feet on either side and at some points the snow-laden branches hung low over the riders. As they progressed there were more pines, crowding them so close Johnny's arms brushed against the dark green boughs, dislodging clumps of chill snow that spilled onto his legs.

The thick forest offered some protection from the wind, but Johnny was heartily tired of the snow that was being driven into their faces and down his neck. He didn't like having cold feet or a runny nose, either. Hell, he didn't like anything about this situation and he yearned for some hot sun and green grass under his feet. He wondered if he'd ever be warm again.

After a while, when the wind picked up, Johnny stopped to pick the impacted snow out of the horses' hooves. He then untied his bedroll and wrapped the blanket and ground sheet around the shoulders of his shivering brother.

"Johnny, I don't know how far. . ."

With a tug Johnny adjusted the waterproof tarp until it shrouded Scott's head as well as his shoulders and fastened the edges together with fumbling fingers. "You'll be fine." He gave a confident smile, but Scott wasn't fooled. They both knew they had to find somewhere to wait out the storm if they were going to survive. Johnny remounted and said, "Just tell me if you're gonna fall off the horse so I can catch you."

"I'll try to give you a warning next time. Look, we could go back," Scott suggested in a lifeless voice.

Johnny looked back the way they had come but there was nothing to be seen but the white-out of the blizzard. "No, it's too far," he said brusquely. "The storm's coming up behind us and we'd never make it." The thought of turning back had crossed his mind, but Johnny knew in his gut the odds weren't good. He might make it on his own, but in his worsening condition, Scott would not. He had to get him somewhere warm and dry. And fast. There was no way Johnny wanted to camp out on the trail, and even if he could rig up a shelter, it wouldn't afford enough protection for a sick man.

"It's my fault. . ." Scott leaned forward and coughed, but recovered. "I shouldn't have told O'Dwyer we'd be good Samaritans."

"Well, next time one of your old friends asks you to deliver some medical supplies to an outpost, we'll know better."

"We should have made a beeline for home as soon as we finished Murdoch's business," agreed Scott.

"Maybe," agreed Johnny. In truth, when he had met Scott's friend Dr. O'Dwyer for the first time, back in the little town of Mount Corey, he had liked the personable young man a lot. It was the doctor's first practice and although O'Dwyer assured the Lancers he liked the growing mountain town he had settled in, it was still far away from everyone back East. He had welcomed the Lancer brothers like the family he was missing. They'd had a good time together, laughed over a dinner and enjoyed playing cards at the man's home. The brothers were pleased to repay the Doc by doing what had seemed, at the time, to be a simple favor.

"Just take these two boxes to High Pass," O'Dwyer had said. "They really should have the serum on hand in case the influenza that's been around spreads out their way."

The Doc expected to give the Lancer boys a dose of the serum before they left, but Scott said how he'd heard that the side effects could be as bad as the disease, and Johnny had backed away with hands raised. "You ain't stickin' any needles in me, Doc. Not in Scott, either. We'll be fine." Nothing the Doc said would make them change their minds.

And so the boys had agreed to take the serum to the mountain town of High Pass. After all, it wasn't too far out of their way and the good weather looked like it would hold for a while. It was a warm autumn and the scenery along the way was breathtaking, Scott pointed out. A ride along the high country would be a nice change. It was when they got to their destination that they discovered that the isolated town had already been struck by the disease. The Lancers made the delivery to the town's overworked barber and left hurriedly.

Ten miles along the road home they saw a storm was coming up behind them, the temperature dropped, and Scott swore that he could smell snow in the air. They were lucky enough to come upon a small mining camp shortly thereafter, and bought heavy coats and some extra gear from one of its well-equipped residents.

"I guess we should thank Teresa for packing extra socks in our saddle bags," Johnny had said, meaning it as he pulled the second pair over the ones he already wore. Scott paid for heavy coats and mufflers and some food to take along.

When they set out from the mining town the brothers were confident they could reach Mariposa, situated halfway down the mountain range, in a couple of days if they took the fastest trail down the pass. Then it would be on towards home - an easy ride along the valley. It seemed like a good plan . . . until it started to snow. Now they were stuck on the snowy side of the mountain range and could only go forward.

Johnny knew there was no point in second-guessing their choice to deliver the supplies, so he pulled up the collar of his heavy sheepskin coat, picked up the reins of Scott's horse and they surged ahead.

~ • ~

They were out in the open once more. The snow was falling so heavily that Johnny couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him. He kicked himself for not making a stand back in the pine forest, even though it might have been the death of his brother. But now, under worsening conditions, with the wind howling at their backs, they were surely both going to perish. Frozen, with his feet blocks of ice in his boots, Johnny turned to check on his brother. It took him a second to realize that the saddle was empty and Scott was gone.

Johnny's heart jumped and in a flash he was off his horse and running, stumbling back along their trail, feeling around, scanning the snowdrifts for any sign of his brother. "Scott! Scott!" The wind stole his voice away, but he continued to call out his brother's name at the top of his lungs. It seemed like an hour, but only a few minutes later Johnny spotted Scott, unmoving, his body already covered with a layer of snow.

***tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Evergreen - Chapter 2

Johnny grabbed his brother's collar and hauled his limp body up to a sitting position. "Scott, answer me," he shouted in his face. His brother's face was unnaturally pale, his lips tinged with blue. Fearful, Johnny gave him a rough shake. "Scott!"

Scott's eyelashes, coated with icy particles, flickered. "Don't shout," he mumbled. "Lemme sleep."

Johnny shook Scott again until finally his eyes opened a sliver, then he got a grip under his brother's arms and hauled him to his feet. "You're gonna get up off your ass, soldier," Johnny ordered.

"Lieutenant," Scott retorted, then steadied himself on wobbly legs. He leaned on Johnny and barely managed to walk the few steps to their horses. One look up at his saddle, so high above the ground, and he moaned.

It was a struggle, but Johnny got Scott mounted. Once he was on his own horse Johnny held the leading rein close. He said testily, "You were supposed to warn me if you were going to fall off."

"Thought I did." Scott couldn't hold up his head. He slumped forward, barely retaining his seat on his horse, so Johnny kept a hand on his shoulder as they slowly rode into the driving snow.

They were out in the open, heading downhill, their horses slipping on the uneven ground. At first Johnny could see nothing but white in all directions, with an occasional rocky outcrop rising out of the frozen ground, but then it cleared just enough to see a dark green wall of trees ahead of them on the hillside. Another forest. This time he'd use the protection of the pines and build them a shelter.

By the time they were under the cover of the piney woods, Johnny's relief turned to dismay; he realized they had lost their tenuous connection to the road. He took a deep breath of the chilly air. It didn't matter. They'd figure a way out once they had survived the night. They only had to head downhill, after all, and eventually they'd get home.

"C'mon, Scott. We have to find a place to hunker down." Their horses wound their way through the trees, scraping between the snowy boughs. A clump of freezing snow fell down Johnny's collar but his mind was only on one thing, and that was finding the best place to camp. Ahead was a rocky slope with a canopy of pine boughs hanging over it and there was enough space between two boulders to get his brother out of the wind. Just as he was about to swing his leg over the saddle, Johnny was halted by a hand on his arm.

Scott pointed off into the woods. He tried to speak but only a grunt came from between his blue-tinged lips.

Johnny turned to see what his brother was pointing at, but saw nothing but blowing snow and darkening woods. He wondered if his brother was seeing things. "We're going to stop here, Scott," he said.

"No. . ."

"I'll get a fire going. Get something hot to drink."

"No. . .no, look. Light."

Johnny peered through the falling snow and there, off in the distance between the trees, was the faint glimmer of a light. He grinned and thanked the Lord.

~ • ~

The flickering light they pursued was elusive and at times Johnny lost sight of it. At one point, when it didn't reappear after several minutes, he nearly panicked. It was difficult to negotiate with the tree trunks so close together, and Johnny dismounted and waded through the snow, leading his horse and Scott's behind him. Although Scott remained in the saddle, he was leaning over his horse's neck and looked as if he was ready to topple off at any moment. Johnny was so cold and worn out he was afraid that if Scott should fall he'd never be able to get him back on his horse.

Being on foot warmed Johnny's body up a bit, but from his knees down he had no feeling. His lungs hurt from inhaling the frigid air, his fingers were like blocks of ice, and the edges of despair were creeping in. Just when he thought they would never make it, they came to a clearing and there, straight ahead, was a large, snow-covered cabin with a friendly light shining through its window.

A laugh of relief escaped Johnny and when he looked back Scott was smiling, too. He left his brother on horseback about twenty feet from the house and trudged alone up to the sturdy front door. Standing as close as possible to the house to take advantage of an overhanging roof, Johnny knocked hard on the door with his gloved fist. The sound of approaching footsteps from the other side of the door was the best thing he'd heard in some time.

The door opened only a crack and just as Johnny started to offer a greeting and a plea for help, the muzzle of a gun was jabbed into his stomach. He saw through the opening that it was a woman. Immediately he sidestepped and protested, "Hey, I'm tryin' to get some help here-."

"Get off my property!"

Johnny sucked in his anger. "Look, ma'am, we need your help. My brother an me-."

The owner of the house took a step over the threshold, brandishing her gun and prodded at his midsection again. "You deaf? I said get off my land, you claim jumper!"

"Look lady-." When she poked the end of the barrel in his belly again, Johnny lost his temper. He grabbed the barrel, side-stepped and hauled on it. The gun went off with a resounding roar, the lead coming so close he felt its searing heat as it whizzed by. Johnny didn't let go of the barrel and the woman stumbled forward and fell at his feet with a cry.

With the rifle securely within his grasp, Johnny reached out with his left hand and helped the woman to her feet. Once up, she ran back into the house, obviously very frightened. He had the impression of lots of wild hair and layers of clothing but he couldn't really see her against the light emanating from a lamp hanging in the entryway. "If you'd only listen to me," he said impatiently, "I'd be able to tell you that my brother needs shelter."

She hid behind the door and demanded, "What's wrong with him?"

Johnny turned his head to glance at Scott, only to see him slowly tumble off his horse and fall into a snowdrift. With the woman's rifle still in hand, Johnny scrambled down to Scott's side. He ran his hands over Scott's body, seeking a bullet wound and desperately hoping he hadn't been struck. It had been a risky move, stupid, and now look what had happened. "Dios! Scott! Scott, where'd you get hit? Talk to me, damn it!"

Scott expelled a heavy breath and opened his eyes. "What? Musta passed out." He blinked against the snow that was falling on his face. "Forgot to warn you again."

"Damn right!" Johnny checked his brother over as best he could in the dark and was relieved that he hadn't been shot.

"I'm not hurt, Johnny." Scott coughed and sat up.

No, just real sick, Johnny thought. "C'mon, let's get you up then." Johnny slung Scott's arm over his shoulder and, with an effort, got the sick man to his feet. Once upright, Johnny sought out the woman but her front door was only open a couple of inches, just enough for her to peer out. He raised the rifle he'd taken from her up high so she could see it and taunted, "You want this back?"

There was no reply for a moment then she called out, "Can't trust the likes of you worth spit, Mister. You come any closer and I'll set the dog on ya."

Although there was no sign of any dog, Johnny wasn't about to put it to the test. By that point he was tired of dealing with the ornery female. "Ma'am, all we want is a place to wait out the storm," he said wearily. "My brother here is sick and-." Johnny and Scott stepped forward into the light but the woman slammed the door in their faces.

She raised her voice to be heard from behind the thick door. "We don't want any more sickness around here. Had enough pestilence! You go away now or I'll let the dog loose!" As if on cue, a dog started barking from somewhere inside the house, its deep woofs and snarls suggesting it was both large and ferocious.

The snow began to fall heavily, thick flakes blanketing their shoulders. The dog stopped barking and the only sound came from the wind blowing through the pines, and even that was muffled. Johnny stood in the dark, supporting his brother. He considered busting down her door but it was too risky. Besides, there was a barn attached to the house and at that point he would be grateful for its shelter. He expected the woman would cause a ruckus when she found them camping in there, but it couldn't be helped.

When Johnny put an arm around Scott and turned towards the barn, for the first time he saw there were other houses nearby. One was only a stone's throw away. There was no light coming from it, and although he supposed there could be people asleep inside, his instinct told him nobody was home. He squinted against the driving snow in the other direction. Some way up the snow-covered road was a cluster of buildings, no more than vague shapes in the dark that appeared to be a town. There were a few faint pinpoints of light coming from them. Not exactly what he'd call civilization.

He chose to head for the dark cabin because it was close and at least they wouldn't have to deal with another hostile reception, if the townspeople were anything like the woman they'd just encountered. "Looks like we need to get mounted again, brother. There's another place just over there." Johnny still had the woman's rifle in hand but he couldn't, with any conscience, take away what might be her sole firearm, even if she had prodded him with it and nearly shot Scott. He tossed it in the direction of the woman's front door. It landed with a thunk in the snow. Let her dig for it, he thought, as they turned away.

***tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Evergreen - Chapter 3

By the time he had ascertained that nobody was home at the small, dark cabin in the woods, and helped a very heavy and weak-kneed Scott inside, Johnny was about ready to collapse himself. He kicked the door closed behind him and eased Scott down to the floor so he could search for a lamp in the pitch black. There was one just inside the door and the matches in the box next to it were dry, so within a minute they had light.

Scott lay in a heap on a wooden floor, his eyes closed, but Johnny thought he was breathing normally, even if he appeared pale in the lamplight. "Gotta get you up, brother, and then I'll get a fire started." Scott moaned instead of talking, but his eyes were open and Johnny took that as a good sign. At least Scott was still conscious and they now had a roof over their heads. Things were looking up.

A quick glance around told Johnny that whoever lived there had taken care of the place. It was a home, not a hunting lodge, with good furniture and even a rug on the floor. Best of all there was a big, fieldstone fireplace with upholstered chairs on either side of it, and a stack of firewood at hand.

It took some dragging and heaving but Johnny finally got his brother into a chair in front of the cold hearth. "Rest easy," he said to Scott then set about lighting a fire. Johnny's fingers were swollen and felt like raw sausages but after three tries he was able to light a match. Once there was a fire going, he spread his hands in front of the flames and tried to defrost his fingers.

"Hurts like hell?" Scott asked in a hoarse whisper.

Johnny left the fire and hunkered down by his brother's side. "Feels like they're on fire," he said with a humorless laugh. His fingers ached so fiercely he held his breath rather than let out a groan.

Scott gave a slight smile. "Like they're being crushed by a burning skillet?"

Johnny nodded. After a few minutes he could wiggle his fingers, which was a great relief, and the pain subsided a bit. He helped Scott remove his gloves and inspected his raw, red fingers. "Do they hurt? That's a good sign, right?"

"Yeah. Blood's warming up," Scott replied between gritted teeth. He tried to remove the tarp that Johnny had covered him with, but had trouble undoing the tie.

"I thought you liked snow." Johnny brushed his hands out of the way. "Let me do that."

Scott snorted. "Just because I grew up with cold weather doesn't mean I like it."

Johnny finally got the knot undone but told Scott to keep the makeshift overcoat around his shoulders until the room warmed up a bit. The fireplace might not be enough to heat the room very much if the temperature continued to drop but it was far better than being outside. In the corner of the kitchen was a pot-bellied stove, used for cooking as well as for warmth, but upon inspection it seemed to be disused due to some mechanical problem. After a quick look at its exhaust mechanism Johnny realized it would take a while to repair it and now was not the time.

First off he rummaged around in the pantry and came up with some flour, some old potatoes, and a tin containing a few coffee beans, but not much else. They still had a little food in their saddlebags but it was mostly jerky and a handful of dried beans. When Johnny opened a door off the kitchen he discovered a bedroom - cold, dark and deserted. He'd go back later to get some bedding for Scott and they'd sleep near the fireplace.

Johnny opened the front door and scooped up a frying pan full of snow, then slammed the door shut on the freezing night. He shivered. While the snow was left to melt over the crackling fire, he jammed his hat down on his head and rushed back out. The horses were huddled close to the small cabin, trying to get out of the wind. Johnny led them into a shed, attached to the house, that was being used to store firewood. At least there was plenty of wood. It seemed secure and even though it was cramped, there was some hay for the animals. After stripping off their saddles, Johnny gave the horses a cursory rubdown with some sacking then took the saddlebags and guns into the house. He located a large bucket, filled it with snow and took in to set it beside the hearth.

Scott seemed to be asleep, but as soon as Johnny brought him a mug of hot coffee, he opened his eyes and sat up straight.

Johnny held a hand to his brother's forehead. "You're burning up."

Scott turned his head away from his brother's touch. "It's from the fire." Only when Johnny stepped away did Scott turn his attention to the hot drink. He rapidly drank the hot coffee but suddenly stopped when he was halfway through it as if was too much for him. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Scott put the mug aside. "No more." He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"Do you need a bucket?"

Scott just shook his head curtly without looking up.

Johnny eyed him suspiciously but didn't quarrel with Scott over how sick he was. He was pale with bright pink spots on his cheeks, and when he slowly opened his eyes again, they were lackluster. With the minimum of fuss Johnny removed his brother's boots, then replaced Scott's wet socks with the last pair of dry ones he pulled from his saddlebag.

Scott blinked heavily but roused himself when he saw what Johnny had done. "Hey, what about you? Your feet are wet, too."

Johnny hung the wet socks by the fire and said, "I'm fine for now. You rest 'cause I'm gonna get us set up for the night and see if I can rustle up some grub." His feet weren't blocks of ice any more and though they were sore they weren't hurting that bad. He shucked his sheepskin outer coat but kept his suede jacket on. After lighting another lamp he started making a meal. By the time he'd put together some hot food, Scott appeared to be asleep again, slumped in the chair, his head resting on one hand.

~ • ~

With a gentle shake Johnny roused his brother and offered him the soup he'd made. "It ain't much but at least it's hot." The fireplace had an iron crane over which to hang a cook pot and he'd found a Dutch oven in the kitchen, so until he got the pot-bellied stove working, he would cook over the open fire.

Scott sniffed and asked, "What is it?"

"Mostly hot water," Johnny admitted. "I boiled some beef jerky and potato and added something that looked like dried onion." When Scott looked with suspicion at the offering, Johnny said, "It won't kill you. I already sampled it." While he watched Scott taste the soup, Johnny said, "If we're gonna be here for a few days I'll have to go out and find something more for grub. There's a few taters and some flour but not much else. I'm hoping there are some other folks living hereabouts we can trade with or buy some supplies from."

"Maybe you should put your rabbit-snaring skills to use," Scott suggested with a straight face. He spooned the soup into his mouth as if it was a chore.

Johnny smiled and pulled the other upholstered chair close to the fire. He ladled out some steaming soup for himself and ate it in record time. When the hot food hit his belly Johnny sighed with pleasure. He looked around the cabin and thought how finding it had been lucky. He didn't want to think about what would have happened to his brother if they'd been forced to camp out in the frigid, snowy night.

Scott slowly finished his meal and slumped in his chair, eyes closed, so Johnny took the empty bowl from his brother's lax fingers and quietly went about his chores. After taking the bucket of now-melted snow out to the horses, Johnny had a better look around the bedroom.

It had a big bed as well as a single one, plus plenty of blankets and comforters. For a husband and wife and probably a child, he guessed. It looked like whoever lived there had simply taken off. Maybe they had gone visiting somewhere and couldn't make it back because of the snowstorm. No matter, he intended to take full advantage of the contents of the house and make Scott as comfortable as he could until he was able to travel again.

Johnny began by stripping a couple of worn but serviceable comforters off the beds. As he dumped them near where Scott was resting, there was a sudden loud banging on the front door. Johnny was over to it like a shot, gun drawn. He flattened himself to one side of the door and shouted, "Who is it?"

There was no reply. Johnny cautiously opened the door. The wind drove fine snow right into his face and it was too dark out to see much of anything. Then it cleared enough for him to make out a small figure backing away - a boy, he realized, bundled up against the elements. Johnny was about to call out to ask what his business was when a big, hairy dog came out of nowhere and barreled straight at him. Before Johnny could get out of the way, the shaggy creature knocked him off his feet and bounded past him into the cabin.

The boy was right behind the dog, yelling at him to stop. Johnny scrambled up, holstered his gun and reached out, yelling, "Whoa." But the boy slipped past, intent on retrieving his runaway pet.

Scott, startled, was doing his best to fend off the animal that was pawing at him and barking in his face while its young owner pulled at the snowy creature's collar. Johnny hauled the dog off his brother, and with the other hand grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck. He demanded, "What the heck is going on?"

***tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Evergreen - Chapter 4

Johnny closed the cabin door and shut the blizzard out.

The dog, although large, appeared to be harmless and once it was off Scott, it calmed down. After a vigorous shake, most of the snow that stuck in clumps to its coat fell off and started to melt in small pools on the floor. Scott, once it was apparent that the dog was only being friendly, was amused by its exuberance. He covered up his smile, looked the dog in the eye and said sternly, "Down and stay down." When the animal reluctantly lay down with a huff of breath, Scott turned to the little boy. "Where'd you come from, son? Isn't it a bit late for you to be out?"

"I live over there," the boy said vaguely. He removed his fur-lined woolen cap and exposed curly blond hair. He announced, "I'm Anton Petrov." He looked around the cabin as if seeking someone, then back to the grownups. "Who're you?"

Scott said, "I'm Mr. Lancer and this is. . .Mr. Lancer."

Johnny looked their unexpected guest over. The boy couldn't be more than seven, and he was scrawny, to boot. "Was that your Ma who tossed us out into the night? And shouldn't you be home, tucked up in bed or somethin'?'"

Anton caught the stern tone and nodded solemnly. "My Ma don't like strangers, 'specially when Pa's away." He looked inquiringly past Scott. "Is Peter here? I saw the lights and even if Ma said not to leave the house, I had to see if they came home. Where's Peter and his Ma and Pa, anyway?"

Scott and Johnny's eyes met over Anton's blond head. Scott shrugged, but he asked the boy, "Are they the folks who live here, Anton?"

Anton nodded in reply, his eyes wide. The dog whined, his big brown eyes roving from Scott to the child as if unsure if he'd been forgiven for his bad behavior. The boy kneeled next to the big animal, his small hand on its back, absently stroking the damp fur until the whining ceased. "Ma said they'd gone away but Peter never would have left without saying 'bye." He looked beseechingly from Scott to Johnny. "I know he wouldn't."

With a hand on the child's back, Johnny moved him away from Scott, then asked, "Is there a town here?"

For a moment the boy looked at him blankly, then he asked, "You mean a store? There's Old Joe's place down the road apiece."

Scott asked, "Has this place got a name?" He leaned forward and patted the dog on the head. It looked like it was some kind of wolfhound to him, rangy with a long muzzle and a wavy coat.

"Sure, this is Evergreen," Anton said as if that explained everything. "My dog's name is Pistol."

Johnny grinned. "He's a pistol, huh?" He squatted down so his face was on a level with the little boy's. "Are there many folks living here? Maybe a doctor?"

Anton nodded.

That was good news to Johnny. "He lives nearby?"

The boy nodded again. "Doc's place is at the end of the road, past town. Ma says he ain't worth spit," he said matter-of-factly. "There used to be a lot of folks livin' hereabouts. . . enough to fill the church, anyway. But mostly they leave before the snow comes, 'cept the diggers up the hill. Most of them stick it out all winter. Sometimes they find gold. Mr. Grigori showed me a nugget once, as big as a fist. Well, as big as my fist. We stay here, too. Ma and me - we're waitin' for Pa to come back." Anton's face crumpled.

Scott turned his head away to cough so it was up to Johnny to ask the obvious. "Your Pa, where'd he go?"

"He went down in the valley. Took the wagon for supplies, but it musta snowed too much for him to get back."

Scott said kindly, "I hope he'll be back soon, son." Suddenly he leaned forward and coughed several times, holding his ribs, his face reddening with the effort.

Johnny stood and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Time you should go. My brother's under the weather."

Worry flickered across Anton's little face. "My Ma will kill me if she finds out I was here. She says I can't go near anyone or the chuma will get me. D'ya think it got Peter's folks? I don't want it to get me." As quickly as the boy had come, he pulled on his hat and ran out, dog at his heels. "C'mon, Pistol!" He left the door open and called over his shoulder, fighting to be heard over the wind, "Maybe I'll be back tomorrow."

Johnny hurried to shut the door after their visitor but before he got it closed he saw the woman, cloaked in a heavy shawl pulled over her hair, heading towards the cabin. She struggled through the deep drifts, her skirts dragging in the snow. The lantern she held high lit up the flakes as they swirled madly around her. Her boy ran into her arms, speaking excitedly in a foreign language. Her head came up. She saw Johnny standing in the open doorway, and even at that distance he sensed she was alarmed. The woman, Anton's Ma, shouted what he figured was an epithet then hauled her boy away through the deep snow, back to their own home.

Holding the door open a few inches, Johnny watched the lingering glow of the lantern until the woman and child disappeared into the dark woods. The last thing he heard as he shut the door on the blowing snow was the dog barking somewhere out in the frigid night.

~ • ~

Johnny sat near Scott and stared at the fire. "I wonder what happened to Peter and to his Ma and Pa." He thought of the empty bedroom at the rear of the house, cold and deserted. He had a good idea but didn't want to voice his fears.

"Maybe the chuma got them," Scott said. "Whatever a chuma is." He started to rise from his chair in front of the fire but Johnny was quick to prevent him from getting up.

"Just tell me what you need, Scott."

"Water. My throat's so dry."

Johnny poured a cupful of the melted snow into a mug. "Might be a bit warm."

Scott gulped it down as if it was the best drink he'd ever had, and then relaxed with a sigh. "That boy shouldn't have come in here."

"No," Johnny agreed.

"What if he caught. . . whatever I've got?"

"Not much we can do about it," Johnny said regretfully. "I think you need some sleep, brother. I'll get our beds ready. The cabin'll get cold tonight. I'll work on fixing the broken stove over there tomorrow." The pot-bellied stove would be enough to heat the kitchen area and the bedroom, but for now they could sleep in the living area.

Scott just nodded in reply. Within a couple of minutes he dropped off to sleep sitting up but was soon awakened by a scraping noise and some bangs.

Johnny dragged a single wooden bed frame out into the main room, then went back and lugged out a mattress. Another trip, and some pillows were dumped at Scott's feet. Within a few minutes Johnny had set up the bed and arranged a place on the floor for himself. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to drop," he said. "Let's turn in." A gust of wind blew snow against the front window, and a branch struck the glass panes with a boney rattle. Johnny hunched his shoulders and shivered. "Boy, do I hate the snow," he muttered.

It didn't take much convincing to get Scott to go to bed. The long day had caught up to him and he felt worse with every passing minute. He slowly removed his heavy sheepskin coat and then his gun belt. "I'm hot. First time all day."

"Keep a few layers on," Johnny suggested. He tried to assist his brother, but his helping hand was rebuffed.

"I can undress myself," said Scott testily. His whole frame began to shake with chills, despite the warm room and his declaration only a minute earlier that he was hot.

Scott had a fever, for sure, but he was strong and would get over it in no time, Johnny thought. He had a bad feeling, but put it down to being so isolated. They'd be fine. They had a roof over their heads, plenty of firewood out in the shed. There was enough food for a couple of days and the means to go hunting as soon as daylight came around.

Scott left his corduroy jacket on; he wore long underwear under a woolen shirt and would keep warm once he was in bed. Johnny laid the heavy sheepskin coat across the end of the bed, but as he put it down he discovered something bulky in the pocket. He reached in and pulled out a slim package, no longer than his hand, wrapped in thick brown waxed paper. "What's this?"

Scott looked at it with disinterest and shook his head slightly. He crawled into bed and pulled a blanket up over his chest. "What is it?"

"It has a stamp on it with Doc O'Dwyer's name." Johnny sat on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the parcel to reveal two glass vials. Only one of them was still intact. The other was shattered into small shards and most of its liquid had been absorbed by the cotton wool used as padding. Johnny raised his eyes to meet Scott's. "O'Dwyer must have put this in your pocket for a reason, Scott. It's some of that medicine. Did he mean it for us?"

"He didn't mention it to me," Scott said tiredly. He looked at the single vial of liquid in Johnny's hand. "You'd better take it, Johnny."

"Me? You need it more than I do!" Johnny gingerly picked up the unbroken glass vial and looked it over. There was no label tied to the wax-sealed cork, but it was obviously the same as the serum they'd delivered to High Pass. He pulled out his pocket knife and began to cut away at the wax seal.

When it was obvious that Johnny was opening the vial of medicine in order to give him a dose, Scott stopped him with a hand on his arm. "It won't do me any good, Johnny. Not now I'm already sick." Johnny looked at his brother briefly then continued with his task, so Scott said vehemently, "It will only make me worse."

Johnny sent him a suspicious look. "If you think I'm going to take this medicine when you're the one who's hurtin', you're wrong." He poked at the cork with the tip of his knife, trying to pry it off.

"O'Dwyer said it only works if you take it before you get sick. Look, I can show you how to open it-."

"I know how to open these things," Johnny said under his breath. "Anyway," he said louder, "I can't take this when you're the one who needs it."

"I'm telling you the truth," Scott said. He coughed several times, almost choking. He covered his mouth until the spell had passed. After a moment Scott said in a raspy voice, "I can't fight you on this. Believe me, it won't do me any good." He laid his hand on Johnny's arm once more. "Please. Don't waste it. You take it. Do it for me."

Johnny shook his head stubbornly. "I can't. I can't, Scott," he said in a low voice.

Scott swore under his breath. "If you get sick, who's going to take care of me?"

Although Johnny saw his brother's point, he was sure he wasn't going to get sick. He rarely caught anything, and hadn't even had most of the childhood maladies other kids suffered through. Johnny noted his brother was frowning at him, so he slowly said, "I'll tell you what. If I feel anything, even a hint of sickness, come morning, I'll . . .I'll . . . think about taking this."

Scott looked at him sideways but seemed to realize that was the closest to a promise he was going to extract from his brother. He nodded and pulled the blankets up under his chin.

Johnny patted Scott on the leg then rose to put some more wood on the fire. The chill of the night seemed to seep into the cabin no matter how high the fire was blazing, and he knew he was going to have to get up every couple of hours to put more logs on. Johnny checked on the horses and replenished their water. He filled a big pot with snow for his and Scott's use and set it on the hearth to melt then doused the lamps and settled into his bedding on the floor near the fireside.

The last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep was Scott saying a weary but heartfelt, "Thanks, Johnny."

"Night, brother."

~ • ~

Johnny woke up suddenly. The fire was low and it was chilly in the cabin. He rose from his low bed and tossed a couple of logs on top of the flames then heard Scott making strange sounds in his sleep. Johnny laid a hand on his brother's forehead to discover he was hot with a fever.

Over the next few hours Johnny kept the fire stoked, made Scott drink as much water as he could get down, bathed his brow and piled extra blankets on his restless legs. Scott was curled up, suffering chills and nausea most of the time but eventually he fell asleep. Johnny intended to stay awake just to keep an eye on his brother, but he was exhausted and soon fell asleep on his bed on the floor.

It was sometime before dawn that Johnny started awake. There was a cold draft on his back. Something was wrong. He sat up and looked over his shoulder to see how Scott was doing. With alarm Johnny found his brother's bed was empty. Jumping to his feet, he cried out, "Scott!"

The front door to the cabin was ajar and Johnny realized that Scott had gone out in the freezing night.

***tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Evergreen - Chapter 5

The storm had passed and in its wake had left a hushed land of white, aglow in the moonlight, with stars twinkling brilliantly in the inky night sky.

Johnny hastily pulled on his boots but didn't stop to take in the frozen natural beauty. Scott was standing a few feet outside the door, knee-deep in the powdery snow, a blanket draped around his shoulders. His head was back and he was looking up at the moon, his every breath visible as white puffs.

Johnny hurried out and said gently, "C'mon, Scott. Let's get you back in bed." He took hold of Scott and guided him back to the warmth of the cabin.

Scott, who was shaking, his teeth chattering, looked back over his shoulder as he went along quietly with Johnny. "Did you ever s…s…see anything s…so beautiful?"

"No, no I never did. Can we just get inside?" Once the door was closed firmly against the freezing night air, Johnny brushed the snow off Scott's lower legs and saw that his brother had walked outside in his stockinged feet. Scott stood there, a blank look on his face, his features passive.

"We gotta get you changed into something dry," Johnny said in exasperation. "At this rate we won't have anything left to wear, brother." While Johnny got Scott into bed and covered him with extra blankets he wondered if the fever had addled his brother's mind. Scott didn't seem to be aware of the cold or what a dumb thing he'd done, but Johnny couldn't find it in himself to scold him.

As soon as a pair of socks, warm and dry from hanging from the mantle, had been put on Scott's icy cold feet, the tall blond curled up in bed and closed his eyes. He acted as if he didn't know he'd taken a midnight stroll and scared the hell out of his younger brother.

Johnny put a warm brick in Scott's bed near his feet and looked down at the sleeping man for a couple of minutes, then sighed and tossed a couple of logs on the fire. The next day, as soon as he was able, he was going to track down the town doctor. And providing that Scott was okay to be left alone for a short while, he was going hunting for their dinner. There had to be rabbits out there, if not deer.

They'd need supplies so he'd go down to the town that little boy, Anton, had said was called Evergreen. He also had to figure out exactly where they were, get a map and form a plan for getting out of the frozen outpost they'd landed in. The sooner the better as far as he was concerned.

~ • ~

In the small hours of the night, Scott was bent over a bucket, retching. Johnny supported him and when it was over he gave his brother some hot tea to sip, and tried to keep him comfortable.

Scott soon lay back and restlessly pushed the bedclothes off. He wiped his sleeve across his brow where tendrils of his hair stuck damply to his forehead. "You don't want to get this grippe," he said with a moan.

Johnny pulled up a small stool and held the warm mug of tea between his hands. "I won't get it. I never get sick."

"No, you just get lead poisoning."

Johnny let out a small laugh. "Oh yeah. On the other hand, being sick for a few days just might be preferable to havin' bullets dug outta me." He offered Scott some more tea. After a slight hesitation Scott took a swallow of the warm drink then lay back exhausted. Johnny took a cloth and wiped Scott's forehead. He tried to keep the worry out of his voice when he asked, "Are you feeling any better?"

Scott gave a wan smile but shook his head. "I'm aching all over. Feels like my bones are all bruised."

"Maybe this'll teach you not to take midnight strolls."

Scott didn't comment. His eyelids kept drooping so Johnny pulled the blankets back up and gently suggested he rest. Scott nodded and was soon asleep. Johnny lay down on his bed on the floor once again and closed his tired eyes. He had a feeling the next day was going to be another tiring one.

~ • ~

Scott twisted in the narrow bed, moving his head from side to side, groaning as he tossed the covers off. Johnny was quick to replace the blankets and tried to calm his feverish brother, but Scott fought him off without fully awakening.

"You have to keep the blanket on," Johnny ordered, knowing his brother wasn't taking in what he was saying.

Scott's arms came up to push the heavy blankets aside, but just as fast Johnny replaced them. Then suddenly Scott grunted, turned on his side and curled into a ball, shuddering so hard the bed frame rattled.

Johnny stoked up the fire and made up a hot drink. He slipped a hand under Scott's head and encouraged the sick man to drink. After a few half-hearted sips, Scott drank with more enthusiasm, but then fell back with a gasp. "What's that?"

"Hot water," Johnny said ruefully. "It's all I've got, except for coffee. There was only a spoonful of tea left in the tin and it's all gone." He couldn't go out and rustle up some supplies until Scott was well enough to be on his own for a short while. It didn't look like that would be anytime soon, though. Johnny glanced up at the window and saw a hint of light. "It's almost dawn," he said aloud. He told himself that once it was daylight everything would be all right. They just had to make it through the night.

When he looked back at Scott, his eyes were closed and he seemed to have fallen into a normal sleep. After putting another hot brick under the covers at his brother's feet, Johnny settled down on his pallet. He'd never get any rest now, he thought, but as soon as his head hit the pillow he fell into a deep sleep.

~ • ~

The day was bright and sunny, but still darned cold, as Johnny discovered when he stepped out to relieve himself first thing that morning. In his opinion, any temperature that was low enough to cool a beer was way too cold for him. It seemed unnatural for anyone to live in such an extreme climate, especially when there were so many warm places in the world.

Johnny wrapped his boots with fur pelts he found out in the shed and secured them with strips of leather. His gloves were too stiff to wear, but he unearthed some large furry ones among the outdoor clothing the residents of the cabin had left behind. With a big fur cap that had seen better days and a knitted muffler wound around his neck, he finally felt he was prepared to go out into the frozen world.

Johnny had spent some time in the mountains of Nevada when he was in his teens, but once he'd made it back to Mexico, had sworn he'd never go anywhere cold, ever again. He snorted. A lot of good making a vow was if you had no control over the elements.

When he finished dressing for his excursion out into the frozen white world, Johnny stopped to check on his brother. With some cajoling, Scott had eaten a little of warmed up potato soup, but as soon as he'd finished he'd wanted to lie down. Now he looked pale and sweaty and Johnny reconsidered his little outing. He couldn't leave Scott alone.

When he saw he was being weighed up, Scott said impatiently, "I'll be fine on my own for a couple of hours."

Johnny wasn't so confident. Scott had awakened that morning, weak but cognizant, but it was obvious he still had a fever. No wonder, what with that little stroll he'd taken in the wee hours of the night. Johnny didn't bring it up and, indeed, it appeared his brother wasn't even aware he'd been walking around in the snow without any shoes on. "You sure, Scott? Because I don't have to go-."

Scott raised a weak hand. "Go, and if you find that doctor out there. . ."

Johnny nodded but he wondered what the qualifications were of any doctor who practiced medicine out in the boondocks. He was probably a barber or perpetually soused, with their luck. Johnny picked up his rifle and loaded it. "We'll have some rabbit stew for supper," he promised. "Maybe some venison." Scott nodded but seemed too tired to speak. Johnny leaned over and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I won't be long."

Scott moved his head on his pillow and looked Johnny up and down. "You don't look much like my brother any more. You sure that hat isn't still alive?"

Johnny ran a hand over his unshaven jaw, looked down at his outdoor gear and laughed. "Guess I am a bit shaggy, at that. But so are you, brother."

One corner of Scott's mouth lifted a little but it appeared it was too tiring for him to raise a smile. "You didn't take the serum, did you?"

"No. Don't need to." Johnny glared defiantly at Scott. "I feel fine. Look, I ain't gonna get sick."

Scott didn't have the strength to quarrel with his stubborn brother. Every word he uttered was an effort but he got out the question, "What about the boy?"

Johnny frowned. He knew what his brother was asking, but he didn't know how he'd be able to accomplish the task, under the circumstances. "I can try."

"You be careful," Scott whispered.

"You know me," Johnny replied with a grin.

"Huh, that's what I'm afraid of." Scott rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. "Just be careful," he mumbled.

~ • ~

When Johnny ventured out and stood on the front doorstep of their cabin he inhaled deeply, taking in the crisp, fresh air. Then he coughed when the frigid air rushed down his throat. How could Scott have thought it so beautiful when it was so uncomfortable, he wondered?

In the bright light of day he could see the rooftops of the town just through the trees, and he decided to walk instead of ride. The snow was deep but he waded through the drifts until he reached what appeared to be the road leading into town. It was a white, smooth, pristine path, edged by thick evergreens on either side. The smell of pines and wood smoke was in the air but there was no sign of life anywhere.

Pulling up the collar of his sheepskin coat, Johnny took a deep breath and made for the house that he and Scott had approached the night before. He wasn't looking forward to another skirmish with the woman had prodded him with a gun - Anton's mother. Although there were no footsteps around the house, there was smoke coming from the chimney. He wondered why a woman, with a child to take care of, stayed up here for the winter. From what Anton had said, it didn't seem likely that his father was going to return any time soon.

The snow had drifted high around the front door, but Johnny finally made it through. Although he knocked on the door several times there was no reply. It was too cold to stand around in thigh-deep snow, waiting for the woman to come home, or to answer the door if she was hiding inside, so, mindful of his promise to his brother, Johnny reached for the latch. It was not locked. He swore under his breath then took his life into his own hands and entered the house uninvited.

~ • ~

Compared to outside, the entryway was very warm. Johnny stamped some of the snow off his boots and just as he cautiously stepped into the hallway, a woman came through a door at the far end. Her head was down, as she was intent on lugging two heavy pails of coal. It was Anton's mother. She looked up and gasped when she saw the intruder in her house then opened her mouth to scream, but Johnny raised his hand to stop her. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he quickly assured her.

Her eyes went to where her rifle was propped against the wall near a coat rack, halfway between herself and the intruder. She weighed her chances but when she was about to drop the pails and make a leap for her weapon, Johnny took a big step forward and growled, "Don't!" He held out the bundled-up package containing the serum. "I've brought some medicine for your boy. That's all."

The woman's suspicious gaze dropped from Johnny's face to see what he was offering her. After a very long time she nodded and, with some relief, put her pails down with a clang. "Well, since you're already standin' inside my house you might as well carry these into the kitchen," she said.

***tbc


	6. Chapter 6

Evergreen - Chapter 6

They sat at the big pine kitchen table and warily eyed each other over cups of black coffee. Between them on the table sat Dr. O'Dwyer's vial of medicine, still half wrapped in its protective swaddling. Johnny had explained where the serum had come from and how his brother and he had agreed the boy should benefit from taking it. The woman frowned at the medicine so Johnny said gently, "It won't do Anton any harm, Ma'am."

"Mrs. Petrov," she said stiffly. "You met my boy, Anton." She smiled a little ruefully as she spoke his name, but with a hint of her deep love for the child, as mothers tend to do. "He's out hunting up some game for supper. Should be back soon."

"You need to think of your boy."

Her eyes flew up to meet those of the man across the table and she raised her chin defensively. "I was a nurse, back during the war. Took care of a hundred men or more who were so sick it was as if they were babes and I was their mam. I know all about sickness, and how to tend to it, I assure you."

Johnny realized that underneath the unkempt hair and ragged garments was a handsome woman, and that she was younger than she at first appeared. Johnny also realized he'd never offered her his name. "I'm Johnny Lancer. That's my brother, Scott, in that cabin back in the woods. Now he's sick, and like he said to me, nobody would want to come down with . . with the fever. So that's why we brought the medicine for your son. Mrs. Petrov, is your husband around?"

She brushed her long, frizzy hair back from her face with a brusque gesture. "We're not married by a church or nothin'," she said defensively, "but Sergei takes good care of me and is a father to my boy. He went down to the valley to deliver the last of the ore for the miners. Sergei took the Harringtons with him, though I warned him that Mr. Harrington was coming down with the chuma." Her voice rose when she said, "I saw the signs."

"Your boy used that word - chuma. What's it mean?"

"Chuma is the…the fever, the sickness. It can be a terrible thing." Suddenly she raised a trembling hand to her mouth and turned away from Johnny. She took some deep breaths and slowly recovered. "It's real hard being up here alone, and I don't know if my man will even make it back. He's most likely caught the sickness, too, helping those Harringtons." She wiped her eyes with her apron and kept her head bowed.

Johnny just waited, uncomfortable and unsure of what he could do for her, if anything. Quietly he asked, "Did a lot of folks here come down with this sickness?"

She nodded and eventually looked up. "Some have died. Everyone's been keeping to themselves, scared out of their wits on account of a dozen people met their Maker when the chuma came through here last year. The Harrington's little boy, Peter, he came down with the fever a couple of days back. I told the Harringtons not to head down to the lowlands with a sick child, but they wouldn't listen to me. Evie, that's the Missus, she thought it was this town that caused the chuma, and just wanted to get as far away from Evergreen as she could."

"But there's been sickness all over the place, Mrs. Petrov. My brother and me, we were carrying medicine to High Pass for a doctor friend, and that's how we ended up here. Got lost in the storm."

"I didn't want my young 'un exposed to the fever, Mr. Lancer, but now he's been near your sick brother."

"I'm sorry about that Ma'am, but he rushed in."

Mrs. Petrov nodded. "I'm afraid that's just like my Anton, but I'm afraid for him. The Lord takes the innocent first, they say. I don't understand that at all, when there's plenty of bad apples we could do without." Mrs. Petrov asked Johnny, "Tell me, why do the children and good folks get sick and it never touches the no-goods like them down at the saloon? I've been far from a good woman, and I guess that's why I'm still here," she said resignedly.

Johnny knew exactly how she felt. He'd made it through some bad situations and had seen people drop around him only to wonder why he was the only one left standing. "Then you need to take this serum and give it to Anton," he said firmly.

She looked at Johnny for a good long time, then slowly nodded. "If I can get hold of him," she said with a slight smile. "Where're you from, Mr. Lancer?"

"Down near Green River, which is where we're heading. But my brother and I rode down from Mount Corey, through High Pass, and ended up here. When the storm came in, we must have got sidetracked."

Mrs. Petrov found a scrap of brown paper and a stub of a pencil and drew a crude map for Johnny. "You must have come down this trail by mistake. It's the only way into Evergreen from that direction. You need to go through town, follow the trail - it's real steep - to the bottom and then south along the river until the land opens up. Of course you won't be going anywhere until the snow melts some."

With a glance out the window at the expanse of brilliant white, Johnny said, "I get the feeling it won't be anytime soon."

"All it takes is a couple of days of thaw and it'll all run away, down the ravine." The woman pulled her shawl tighter around herself. "Just be glad you're not comin' through here a couple of months from now. If this was December, you'd become an honorary resident of Evergreen. This is why most of the folks hereabouts skedaddle down to the valley as soon as we get frost. It just set in a little early this year."

Johnny thought of Scott alone back at the cabin and stood up. "I have to go now. There's a general store down the road?"

Mrs. Petrov made a gesture in the direction of the town. "Old Joe's," she said as she got up from the table and went over to a kitchen cabinet. "You watch out for him. He's not real sociable and has a quirk about anyone who ain't a miner like himself. There's a line drawn in the sand here, with the miners on one side and everyone else on the other. My husband takes their ore down to the stamp mill but they won't lift a finger for anyone who isn't one of them."

"I take it your man doesn't dig in the ground for a living."

"No, thank you," she exclaimed. "Sergei does some trappin' and works at whatever he can lay his hand to, but he's a real good carpenter," she said with pride. "He built this house."

"Are there many people living in Evergreen?"

Mrs. Petrov thought for a minute then said, "Maybe a dozen left now, plus us." She caught Johnny's look of surprise. "The regular folks leave for the winter and only the old miners stay on as a rule. Sergei traps all winter and there's never any competition. A few of them diggers go into town to the saloon or hover 'round the potbellied stove at Old Joe's, but they keep to themselves." She went over to her pantry and put a few things in a small grain sack then handed it to Johnny. "I don't go into Evergreen when my man's away so I keep my pantry well stocked for the winter."

"Are you sure, Ma'am? I don't want to leave you short."

"We're not so hard up we can't share with those in need. I sure hope your brother recovers. . .soon," she said.

"I'm going to go find the doctor."

The woman nodded. "He's got a place up the trail that cuts close to the hillside, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in days, not since the whole town was overcome by fear. I wouldn't put too much stock in what Dr. Blackbone has to offer." She gestured towards the sack Johnny was holding. "I put some of my tea in there. You let it steep 'til it's dark as coffee and give your brother plenty of it, you hear? He won't like it but it'll be good for his fever."

They walked to the door and Johnny donned his coat and fur hat. He stood on the threshold and instructed, "You make sure you give the medicine to Anton the minute he gets in. If you need my help for anything, just yell and I'll be sure to hear you," he said with a grin. "Now that we're neighbors. . ."

Mrs. Petrov reached out and for the first time touched Johnny. Her hand rested on his forearm briefly but it was a warm gesture. "Thank you," she said in a low voice. "If you see my boy out there, send him home. But don't tell him anything I've told you." Her eyes rose to look sadly into Johnny's. "You see, Mr. Lancer, I couldn't bear to tell Anton his only friend took sick with the chuma. It's lonely up here and…and we haven't got anyone to call friend."

"Well, you do now," Johnny said.

~ • ~

The town of Evergreen was so small that Johnny almost missed it. None of the ramshackle buildings had signs on them, but one was a cooper's shop, and a rickety structure just beyond it appeared to be a drinking establishment, but without any signage it wasn't clear. The other businesses were suppliers for the mining operation that was apparently the town's livelihood. One large, rundown building had barrels and dry goods out on the porch, all half-buried in snow. It must be Old Joe's, thought Johnny. There were quite a few tracks in the snow trailing in and out of the store and wood smoke poured from a tin chimney in the center of its roof. It was the only sign of life in the whole town.

Johnny kicked some snow off his boots and slowly entered the store. He stopped a couple of feet in to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The store was dingy and the shelves were laden with hardware and mining supplies. He spotted a few canned goods way in the rear of the store, but before he even took a step forward, a man came out of a back room wiping his hands on his grimy apron.

The man halted in surprise, then snarled, "You can just turn around and get outta here, stranger."

Exasperated, Johnny raised his hands so the man could see them clearly. "I just want to-."

The storekeeper brought out a short-barreled shotgun. "Don't come in here blamin' me for any meat that's gone green. The bacon I sold you fellers was good enough when it left here. All you gotta do is boil it hard and it'll be fine. Now you git."

Johnny risked lowering his hands and casually removed his bulky gloves. Despite his peaceful intentions, he thought it was a good idea to ensure his right hand was free. "I've never been in here before, Mister. I need to buy some provisions."

The storekeeper gestured menacingly with his gun in Johnny's direction. "You deaf, boy? I don't want any trouble with you pelt-pushers."

Johnny realized with his unshaved face, sheepskin coat and boots wrapped in pelts, he must look like a trapper right off the trail. Slowly, he dragged his fur hat off his head. Biting back his rising anger, Johnny began, "I don't mean you no harm." He had a feeling he'd said that more times in the past couple of days than ever before in his lifetime.

The man said loudly, "You bein' here is harm enough, Mister. Don't you understand?"

"No, I don't-."

"It's the sickness," the man said with a desperate whine. "Half the town is dead, and the bodies are stacked up like cordwood behind the sawmill. The rest have gone into hiding. No, I can't let you in here."

The shotgun barrel was shaking a little and Johnny saw how scared the man was. The last thing he wanted was to get blasted to Hell by some nervous Nellie with an itchy trigger finger. Johnny did something he rarely did - he took a step back. "I just want some of those canned goods and I'll be on my way to the Doc's."

The storekeeper let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Hell, the Doc ain't here no more. He was the second person to go."

Although he'd known from the start there was little chance that the doctor could do anything to cure Scott, Johnny's heart sank. "He's dead?"

"Naw, he took off like most of the others. Ran for the lowlands. Most of these folks are stuck here because of the snow. No way out. The old-timers won't abandon their holdings, anyway."

Johnny planted his feet and lowered his hands. He wasn't going to leave empty-handed. There was no telling how long he and Scott would be stranded in this poor excuse for a town. "Just put some cans of whatever you've got back there together for me. I'll take some beans and coffee, some lard, flour," he ordered. "No bacon, though." The storekeeper still hesitated, so Johnny added, "I'll pay you twice the going rate." The look of greed in the man's eyes told Johnny he'd get his supplies all right - after some bargaining.

"There'll be a surcharge. Four times the going rate," the man countered.

"What? Highway robbery!" Face set sternly, Johnny glared at the man. "If you think you're gonna lead me a pretty dance, you'll find you've picked the wrong man to deal a hard hand." From out of nowhere came the thought that he sounded just like his father. Then he figured he might as well try a trick or two of his old man's. With a sly look, he leaned in a little. "It seems to me that with most of your citizens gone or holed up, your business must be suffering. If you don't want my money, I guess I could raid some of these empty cabins and get some grub for free."

"Dang it all, all right, I'll charge you threefold. But that's the best you'll get out of me. Now you back off and I'll get some grub together for ya. Just don't come near me, feller."

With a straight face, Johnny stepped back to the doorway and waited while the man got the food together in a sack. He'd have to tell Murdoch how he'd thought of him. He'd chuckle over it, that was for sure. When his purchase was ready, Johnny set some cash on the edge of the nearest display table. The store's proprietor eyed it, and when he apparently found the sum to be sufficient, the bulging sack was tossed in Johnny's direction.

~ • ~

Johnny stood in front of the doctor's office and peered up at the weatherworn sign. It said, "Dr. Blackbone ~ Bonifide Physician ~ Elixers - Splints - Remedies", and underneath it was painted in smaller letters, "Animals Doctored when Time Permits". Johnny snorted and said aloud, "You forgot to add 'Yellow-bellied'." The place was obviously deserted, and the door was locked, but it only took a heave on the door handle and a shoulder to the rickety wood door and he was in.

The place was dark and a mess; someone had left in a hurry. Johnny went straight to a glass-fronted medicine cabinet. It was locked, and although he felt around on top of the cabinet, there was no handy key. After wrapping his hand in a heavy towel, Johnny broke the glass and gained entry. He took only what he thought he might need, and only if he recognized the names. With a small collection of pharmaceuticals and the makings of a mustard plaster stowed away in his sack of food from Old Joe's general store, Johnny trudged back through town and headed for the cabin that was his and Scott's temporary home.

~ • ~

As he passed by the nameless saloon, Johnny caught sight of a couple of men standing in the doorway, watching his progress down the snowy street. As soon as he turned his head to take a good look at them, the men stepped back into the dark building. They reminded Johnny of rats receding into their dark holes, but instinct told him they weren't looking for trouble, so he changed course and headed for the saloon's open door.

*** tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Evergreen - Chapter 7

The handful of men Johnny faced were as rough as the saloon, which was rickety, dark as a dungeon, and crawling with vermin. The single room boasted a slimy dirt floor and a bartop constructed of end-to-end pine planks perched on metal sawhorses. There were no tables or chairs so the customers leaned against the bar and eyed him with hostility.

Johnny stood just inside the doorway. He removed his gloves and politely touched a couple of fingers to his fur hat in a salute, but the saloon's customers just stood there, slack-jawed, and didn't respond in kind. It was cold and dank in the single room, and Johnny wondered why the locals hung out there at all. He'd seen their kind before, hard-working but clannish laborers who weren't about to give any outsider half a chance.

One of the men, a tall red-haired fellow, eventually nodded in reply. Like the others, he wore an old patched coat and a bearded face, and had the scarred hands of a man who dug in the dirt in order to scrape out a meager living. The men watched Johnny warily when he stepped up to the bar.

The bartender was a large man who wore a ragged shirt with rolled-up sleeves, exposing his burly forearms. "We don't serve no trappers in here," he warned gruffly in a thick accent.

~ • ~

Scott put on his boots, stretched and rose. The book he'd been reading slipped off his lap and dropped to the floor in front of the hearth, unnoticed. He felt like crap; his whole body was still aching, he was hot and then two minutes later felt chilled right down to his bones, but the cough wasn't as persistent as it had been earlier.

He ran a hand over his bearded jaw. No, he couldn't face shaving, but he had to move around, maybe freshen up. He hated the feeling of lethargy that had overcome him, but was sure if he washed up a bit he'd feel better. There was some warm water in a pot near the fire, so he took it over to the small tin sink in the kitchen area, stripped off his layers of sweater, shirt and underwear, and splashed water on his face and body.

By the time he'd found a towel and had dried off and pulled his clothing back on, Scott's head was swimming. All he could think about was crawling back into bed. Maybe it was from walking around after sitting still for so long, but suddenly his stomach felt odd, then his bowels acted up. Clutching his belly, Scott felt sweat break out over his entire body and the room started to sway.

He went through the back door and into the shed where they sheltered the horses. The animals weren't there but after a moment he remembered Johnny had put them out back before he left. Scott staggered to the exterior door of the shed, pushed it open and leaned against the doorframe, taking in the cold air. Its freshness revived him, but he even though he knew he shouldn't be outside, he stepped out into the sunshine and turned his face to the sun. After a few minutes he felt better, but instead of returning to the warm, safe cabin, Scott shoved his hands into his pockets and started to walk though the snow.

The two hardy horses they had chosen for the trip, instead of their favorite mounts, stood in a sunny spot in the trampled-down snow of the small corral. They watched Scott curiously as he walked on by and headed for the piney woods out back.

~ • ~

"I'm not a trapper," Johnny said, as if he was insulted by the suggestion.

As if on cue, the small group of customers mumbled amongst themselves, fairly bristling. Johnny was quick to add, "I'm a rancher. Just borrowed the clothes, is all." He asked the man behind the bar, "How about a whiskey?"

"All we got is what you see. Very special. I distill it myself," said the big man behind the bar. His accent was so thick Johnny had to decipher the words.

It appeared that the only choice was whatever was in the half-dozen unmarked bottles on the shelf behind the bar. They all looked the same, filled with a pale, unidentifiable liquid, so Johnny laid down a couple of bits in payment and hoped for the best. "Then I'll take what you've got." He had experienced some home-brewed alcohol that tasted more akin to rat poison than tequila, but now that he was in the saloon he hoped not only for a drink, but for some information.

Without a smile, the bartender pulled one of the bottles off the shelf, uncorked it and poured a shot into a relatively clean glass.

It looked like water, but from the fumes rising from his drink, Johnny was sure it was going to have some hell of a kick. He lifted the glass in salute to the bartender and downed it in one gulp. It took every ounce of his strength to keep a straight face. The fiery liquid burned all the way down his throat, his eyes watered and he had to work hard not to choke. He slammed the glass down on the plank bar and grinned despite clenched teeth.

The barkeep's heavy face lightened with a broad grin in response. "Must be the hot pepper I put in recipe. You like?"

Johnny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stifled an overwhelming need to retch. "I like. Has to be the best coffin varnish I've ever had," he said sincerely. "What do you call this stuff?"

"Khlebnoye vino," the bartender said proudly. "But made from potato, not bread." He pointed to a spot above the bar where a bough of juniper was nailed, its small blue berries glistening palely. "Gives it extra flavor," he added. "Put many hairs on your chest."

Johnny glanced down at his chest, hidden from view by multiple layers of clothing. "Uh-huh. Can I buy a bottle to take with me?"

The whole mood of the room lightened considerably and the men moved forward to ask Johnny where he'd come from and for news of the outside world. Johnny was surprised that they seemed unconcerned that they might come down with the sickness that was going around, but after a few minutes he found out several of them had survived the chuma the previous year. They all believed they wouldn't catch it again.

He didn't tell them about Scott being sick, though. They might rethink their position about being impervious to the chuma and take it out on the strangers in their town.

The redheaded man introduced himself as Grigori and shook Johnny's hand vigorously. "You drink the vodka and you will never get sick," he assured Johnny. The miners nodded vigorously.

Johnny just asked, "You're Anton's friend with the gold nugget?"

Grigori smiled at that. "Yes, but not much gold to be found. We don't get rich up here in Evergreen. Anton's a nice boy, but that mother of his. . ." He rolled his eyes and the other men agreed. "She will shoot you before you take step close to her house."

"And you keep eye out for her husband, too," piped up another of the men. "He's as big as a bear and twice as mean. Never trust a trapper, that's what we say." They all concurred and traded grumbles about the untrustworthiness of anyone who wasn't a miner.

Johnny didn't reveal that he'd managed to get inside Mrs. Petrov's well-guarded perimeter. He questioned them about the route to take down the mountain, and asked if it was likely to thaw anytime soon. After a lot of humming and hawing, the miners agreed the snow would melt within a week or so. "But this time of year the wind, she is strong," said Grigori. "Brings big clouds from the mountains. Lots of snow."

There might only be a small window of opportunity to get out of Evergreen, Johnny realized. And whether Scott was on his feet or not, they'd have to take advantage of any break in the weather and get off the mountain or else they could be stuck there for the rest of the winter. He shivered at the thought.

Grigori introduced his friends and jovially ordered the bartender, whose name was Kozyawl, to pour another round of drinks. Johnny refused at first, but they insisted, so he downed the glassful of vodka and started to feel warm. He then knew why the bar's occupants didn't need a fire to keep warm. When Johnny opened his coat to cool off, and rested his right hand on his hip, the men saw his gun belt, slung low, for the first time.

One said something in his foreign tongue so Grigori translated for Johnny's sake. "He say now he knows you tell the truth. You are no trapper, no way. Do all ranchers carry pistols like this?"

Johnny grinned and shifted his weight. "They do where I come from."

"Ah," was the general response.

Johnny leaned on the bar, but when the planks shifted he took his weight off it and looked curiously at the surface. The barkeeper, Kozyawl, leaned over, his elbows braced on the bar's wooden surface, and asked Johnny in his deep voice, "You don't know what I make my bar from?"

"No, should I?"

"You are a man of the gun, no?"

Johnny looked around uneasily, but the customers, his new friends, were gazing at him expectantly. "I guess you could say that. So what's that have to do with your bar?" The planks were rough-hewn pine, very long, and roughly nailed together. Suddenly, Johnny understood where the wood came from and stepped back hastily.

The men laughed and Grigori slapped Johnny on his back. "It's made from lid of coffin," he explained. "Kozyawl here is Evergreen's undertaker." Grigori laughed until his face turned pink. "He made his own casket when he took sick last year with the chuma, thinking he would die soon. But after he drank much vodka and did not die, well. . . " He shrugged. "He could not waste the wood."

A couple of the men slapped Johnny on his back and apparently found the whole situation very amusing. Johnny wondered at the miners' odd sense of humor but put it down to them being foreigners. He refused another drink, put the bottle of vodka in his sack and said he had to catch dinner and get on get home.

~ • ~

The shadows were already long when Johnny arrived back at the cabin with his bag of supplies and a couple of freshly killed rabbits in hand. Wading through the drifts up to the front door of the place that he was beginning to think of as home, Johnny concentrated on retracing his own footsteps. It was easier than making a fresh path. When he was inside he stomped the snow off his boots and called out a greeting, but there was no welcoming reply.

Johnny's heart missed a beat. A book lying face down on the floor, abandoned, the bed was empty and there was no sign of Scott. "Damn! Damn!" Johnny dropped his sack and the rabbits on the floor and rushed to look in the bedroom, then ran through the side door to the shed. It was empty. Scott was gone.

***tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Evergreen - Chapter 8

Johnny had hoped to find his brother in the shed because the only other place he could be was outside, and in his weakened condition he'd be a goner in a short time. He quashed the fearful images, the many possible scenarios that came to mind in a flash; none of them were good. It didn't bear thinking about. In a second, Johnny was outside, and immediately discovered a fresh set of tracks. He hurriedly followed them around the back of the cabin, where they joined his own footsteps from earlier excursions to the outhouse. Had Scott braved the cold and gone out to use the outhouse? Johnny ran up and banged on the door of the little structure, causing it to wobble a bit. "Scott! Scott, are you there?"

The door slowly opened with a squeak and his brother appeared, an annoyed expression on his face. "Can't a man have a little peace?"

Johnny inhaled deeply and held back the retort that was ready to burst from his lips. "I was worried," he stated as evenly as possible. But there was no way to keep the concern out of his voice, and Scott saw there was more to it than just wondering where he was.

"I'm fine." The cold air caused Scott to cough but he held his hand over his mouth until he had suppressed it. He felt like a kid who had been caught out for doing something illicit, and indeed, he had been wondering how he was going to make it all the way back to the cabin. Not that he was going to admit any of this to his overly protective brother. "Why're you so all-fired up?"

"It's nothing. Let's go back inside." Johnny took hold of Scott and helped him along, whether he liked it or not.

The minute they were inside, Scott shook off the helping hand and sat in front of the fire. He asked, "Aren't you over-reacting a bit?"

Exasperated, Johnny threw up his hands. "Oh yeah, that's it, all right. I'm over-reacting. You've still got this chuma thing and are supposed to be in bed, and I come back to find you gone! You went traipsin' all the way back to the outhouse when you've got a perfectly good bucket right here!" As if to illustrate his words, Johnny picked up an empty bucket and shook it at Scott.

"I didn't want to use the bucket any more. I'm safe inside now, so just sit down and calm yourself, Johnny." Scott wondered why Johnny was so worked up and looked at him askance.

Catching the sideways glance, Johnny sat and crossed his arms in a huff. "After what happened the last time, it's no wonder I'm a bit riled."

"The last time?"

"Yeah, the last time you wandered off at night-" Johnny thought better of telling Scott about his sleepwalking incident. He busied himself by removed the furry leggings bound to his boots, and hung his coat and hat on a peg by the door. He brushed his hair back with his fingers and calmed himself. "I'll get you something hot to drink. Are you feeling okay?" He went to lay a hand on Scott's forehead, but his brother stopped him by grabbing his wrist.

"Are you saying I was sleepwalking?"

"When you had the fever, I found you out in the snow in the middle of the night."

"No…"

"Yeah, you were out there admiring the frozen wasteland."

Scott chuckled to himself.

"It isn't, funny Scott. You're still real sick. We've gotta get you better 'cause once there's a break in the weather we need to be ready to go."

Scott raised his hands in surrender. "I know that. I admit I don't feel very good, but, it's just that…I haven't walked in my sleep for years. I thought I'd grown out of it. I used to scare the hell out of the staff back home, strolling around in the middle of the night. Once I refrained from eating in the evening it simply stopped." He reached out and touched Johnny's arm. "I'm glad I have you here to watch over me and to worry over me like an old hen."

Johnny snorted and put some water on to boil. "Just for that last remark, I'll make you an extra strong cup of Mrs. Petrov's tea."

Scott groaned.

~ • ~

Scott slept for two hours on top of his bed and awoke to be greeted by a smiling Johnny and a cup of dark, stinking tea. After being forced to imbibe the foul drink, Scott wrapped his arms around his middle and looked miserable. "That stuff you call tea is vile. It makes my stomach ache."

"I've got somethin' better," Johnny offered. He pulled out the bottle of vodka with a grin. "Medicinal."

"Then I could do with a glass of it," Scott said.

Johnny poured out two small glasses of the fiery drink and handed one to Scott.

Scott looked at Johnny with bleary eyes. He rubbed his face and coughed a little. "I just want to get over this sickness, and get back home." He took a cautious taste of the clear liquid, pulled a face and raised his eyebrows, but tried another sip.

Johnny suspended a cookpot on a hinged hook over the fire, then added put some extra ingredients and stirred it.

"Is that rabbit?"

Johnny nodded and grinned. "Mostly. Got some .45 flavoring though. I didn't have time to set a snare. You hungry?"

"I am." Scott held up his empty glass. "This. . .this was interesting." He wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

"Made from taters and juniper or something." Johnny told Scott about his encounter with the miners and also showed him the medical supplies he'd commandeered from Dr. Blackbone's office. "Got some bonafide cough syrup, too."

After inspecting the dark brown bottle of elixir, Scott shook his head. "I think we'll save this for an emergency. Besides, that vodka seems to have done the trick."

"It warmed me up for a while, that's for sure. It wasn't too bad out in the cold so long as I kept moving, but it's nice to be back inside. I'll be real glad to get back to a hot, dry place like Morro Coyo, where they have a real cantina and warm beer."

Johnny offered to help Scott into the comfortable chair in front of the fire. When he got an arm around his brother, Johnny noticed his shirt was damp with sweat so he went into the bedroom, rummaged in the bureau and came out with a large flannel shirt and a knitted pullover.

Scott frowned at the sight of the worn garments, but Johnny said in a no-nonsense tone, "Change into these."

Although Scott had a set to his mouth that suggested he was going to rebel, in the end he gave in.

Johnny guessed that the clothing's owner, Mr. Harrington, must have been a big man because the sweater hung on Scott's slim frame like a sack. There was something personal about wearing another man's clothing, especially when he might be dead, but they had to take whatever was handy in order to survive.

By the time Scott was wearing the fresh clothing he was pale and exhausted. He lay back in the chair by the fire and watched Johnny prepare the meal. After a while he asked, "You didn't say if you talked to Anton's mother."

"I did," Johnny replied as he leaned over the fire and stirred the pot of stew. "Mrs. Petrov took the serum and said she'd give it to her boy."

"That's good. I take it she didn't shoot you then?"

Johnny raised his arms and inspected himself. "Nope. No holes at all. Must be my charmin' personality."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Maybe she just knew what was best for her son."

"That, too."

"You seem to have met an array of people today. Makes me almost envious."

"Those miners are a strange lot." Johnny said thoughtfully. "Foreigners, most of them, it seems, and have some kind of feud going on with the trappers." He doled out two bowls of his rabbit stew and handed one to Scott. "The storekeeper down the road was real unfriendly, but I figure folks are just scared to death they'll catch this fever that's goin' round. Oh, and uh. . ." He reached into is back pocket and pulled out the map that Mrs. Petrov had drawn. "At least we now have the directions to get out of this place. . .once the snow melts a bit." He glanced at the window where snow was blowing about and lightly dusting the panes. The sun was low in the sky and when darkness fell, it would come fast. "It's still supposed to be Autumn, isn't it?"

Scott wasn't sure if the heavy snowstorm they'd ridden through was the norm or not, but he hoped he could recover soon so they could get to a lower elevation and then back to Lancer. "All this snow seems really early to me. Look, once it melts a bit, I can travel. A little snow never hurt anyone." Scott sat up straight and picked up his spoon, but no sooner had he swallowed a mouthful than he started to cough. The cough was persistent and even though Johnny was there to pat his back, Scott had trouble regaining his breath. Red-faced and with watering eyes, he finally took in a restorative breath and sat back. "I'm. . .okay," he said unconvincingly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and handed the bowl of stew to Johnny. "Can't. Not right now."

Johnny peered at his brother worriedly, but didn't pester him with any questions. "No hurry to eat. It'll be here when you want it." He poured a big spoonful of Dr. Blackbone's cough mixture and Scott took it. Johnny hovered, but after a few minutes, when it became apparent the syrup was working, he sat back down and finished his meal.

As Scott didn't appear to be up to doing anything more than resting in his chair, Johnny decided to give a try at fixing the pot-bellied stove in the corner. He took the stovepipe apart, fiddled with the damper, removed the lid over the firebox and inspected the interior.

Scott peered over his shoulder at Johnny. "Do you even know what you're looking for?" His tone suggested he doubted Johnny had a clue how to repair a stove.

"Nothing seems amiss but the stovepipe isn't fitting right and this hingey thing is sort of stiff. Sorta like the hammer spring in a revolver. If that's all that's wrong I can fix it." Johnny looked up from his task and brushed a hand over his nose, leaving a dark smudge. He grinned. "On the other hand, I might end up burnin' this cabin down and then we'll be in real trouble."

"Then leave the thing alone," Scott pled. He kept half an eye on Johnny as he picked up his bowl once more and slowly ate his stew. "You cook a fine meal on the open hearth anyway."

Pleased that Scott was able to eat, Johnny smiled. "Making something out of nothin' is my specialty. I'm going out to hunt for deer tomorrow, so it'll be best if I can get this stove going. Then you won't have to worry about putting logs on the fire all the time."

He made a couple of trips out to the shed for tools and was eventually able put the stove back together. He started a fire and stood back, waiting to make sure it wasn't smoking. When it was clear his repair had worked, Johnny made up a pan biscuit and offered some to Scott. Although Scott ate without enthusiasm, Johnny bit into his biscuit with gusto and spoke with a full mouth. "I gotta clean out the horses' stall and then maybe we can play some checkers. I found a box of games in the bedroom."

Scott agreed, though he didn't appear to have much energy. "I guess going outside didn't do me much good."

Johnny kept his response to a grunt for fear he'd say something he'd regret. By the time he returned from cleaning up the stall in the shed and got the horses settled, he found Scott fast asleep in bed. Johnny looked down at his peacefully sleeping brother, put his hands on his hips and thought of the long night stretching in front of him. "Brother," he said softly, "I gotta tell you, if we get stuck up here this is gonna be one hell of a long winter." Before he settled down for the night he locked and bolted both of the doors.

~ • ~

After a long and restless night, Scott was so weakened by the return of his persistent fever that he couldn't get out of bed and no amount of encouragement from Johnny would entice him to take any nourishment. Eventually Scott was able to take some sips of water, By mid-morning he drank half a cup of Mrs. Petrov's black tea - under duress - but then he fell back into his bed and immediately went to sleep.

Johnny sat and desolately watched his sleeping brother. He'd thought he was getting better, but he'd obviously suffered a relapse. Scott had dark circles around his eyes, his damp hair was plastered to his pale forehead, and his lips were cracked and dry.

Johnny felt helpless, seeing his brother so sick and not being able to do anything about it. Oh, he could keep him warm and offer him nourishment, but Johnny had a feeling that if they were at Lancer everything would be better. He knew that nothing more could be done if they were there, but the very thought of home comforted him.

Johnny sighed. He'd hoped to ride out and see what the trail was like on the other side of the town. He was anxious to leave, but now it looked like Scott wasn't going to be fit to travel for some time. Johnny spent the morning baking a supply of biscuits in the stove in the kitchen then he let the horses out into the corral behind the cabin and cleaned out their stall. He replenished their firewood, then brought one of the saddles inside and started repairing a torn seam. It could have waited until they got home, but he needed something to do. Sitting around didn't come easily to him.

By mid-afternoon Scott showed signs he was waking, so Johnny put some soup on to heat and gently placed a couple of extra pillows under his brother's head. Scott looked sleepy and in poor spirits, but he eyed the bowl of soup with interest. Johnny sat by the bed and spooned some soup into his brother's mouth, taking it slow.

Scott didn't say a word until he'd had a bit of sustenance. "That's good." He gave a half-hearted smile. "I don't like to be any trouble."

Johnny snorted. "Yeah, but you're still a lot of trouble at times, brother." Scott's face fell, so Johnny added, "You're doin' fine and I don't mind taking' care of you. It's just I don't like being holed up, you know?"

Scott nodded, then pushed himself into a sitting position. "Here, give me the bowl. I can handle it. You get yourself something to eat." He coughed a couple of times, but not the rough, hacking cough he'd had just a day beforehand. After a moment, the sick man started eating and soon enough he'd finished the whole bowl of soup. "Good," he said, then took a deep breath and sank back into his bedding.

"You want some tea?"

With a hand of refusal, Scott said, "No. No."

"I got some stuff from the doctor's place, so I can make you a mustard plaster for your chest," Johnny offered.

Scott looked horrified. "There's no need," he said quickly, stifling a cough.

Johnny reached for a bottle of pills he had brought from Dr. Blackbone's office. "What about these? The label sure is fancy."

"No, thanks."

"You sure?" Johnny read aloud, "Says here, 'Dr. Rush's Thunderbolt Pills. Good for colic cure and curing hemor…hemor…tuberculosis, toothache, childbirth'." He glanced up. "Guess we don't need it for that."

Scott took the bottle and read the label, then said sourly, "Fifty-percent laudanum. Good for bullet wounds, too. Maybe you'd better hang onto this for yourself."

Johnny snatched the bottle of pills and put it aside. "There's no need to get snippy."

"For now, I think sleep and food are the best cure-alls."

Johnny smiled. "Then you'll be wanting some more of Mrs. Petrov's black tea."

~ • ~

Johnny stood at the window for a long while, just looking out at the frozen landscape. Long blue shadows stretched across the white snow. It might be beautiful, but the evergreens outside were swaying in the wind and fine icy particles were blowing off the roof, making it look like it was snowing again. The cold air seeping in through the glass panes was enough to make him shiver.

"It will melt. . .eventually," Scott assured him from where he lay in bed. He stretched and took a deep breath. "Did I sleep long?"

"A couple of hours," Johnny replied. "I'm afraid we might get stuck here for a long time. I'm thinking of raiding some of the cabins for some grub. I might find some coffee or sugar." He turned to look at Scott. "That storekeeper looked like he'd as soon shoot me as sell anything else to me. How much money have you got?" His brother gave him a quizzical look, so Johnny shrugged. "I find anything useful I want to leave some payment. I'm not a thief, you know."

"My money's in the inside pocket of my coat." Scott gestured towards the sheepskin coat, now hanging on a peg by the door. "You said you were stuck in a cabin in Nevada? How did you spend a whole winter cooped up without going stir crazy?"

Johnny said, as he retrieved Scott's money from the coat, "We played poker for the most part. The town was a sight more lively than this one."

Scott turned his head on his pillow in time to see Johnny grinning to himself. He demanded, "Okay, what's so funny?"

Johnny sauntered over and sat on the end of the bed, trying to stop smiling broadly, but he found it difficult. "Like I said, it was somewhat more alive than this town. There were a hundred or so people in town, and one fine cathouse right next door to the place I was staying."

With a nod, Scott asked knowingly, "Time well spent?"

"Yeah, well I spent most of my earnings, that's for sure." Johnny gave his brother a once-over. "You're feelin' better."

Scott put one hand behind his head. "I'm not so sweaty but I doubt I could walk much further than that door." He yawned and closed his eyes. "I'll be fine tomorrow."

Johnny patted Scott's knee and said, "Good, 'cause there ain't no whorehouse in town and I'm getting bored. All we've got for entertainment is checkers and I hate playing alone."

~ • ~

Although the wind howled all night, the morning brought sunshine and its accompanying warmth. Scott was slow to get up, but he managed to do his morning ablutions without any assistance. Once ensconced in his chair in front of the roaring fire, he was loathe to leave it. There were only a few books in the cabin, mostly for children, but luckily one of the volumes was a collection of fact and fiction that kept his interest during his waking hours.

Johnny cleaned his pistol and his brother's as well, then brought their rifles in and laid them out on the kitchen table. He took them apart and cleaned them, and after that did the same with an old Remington that was hanging over the front door.

"Are you expecting a range war?" Scott asked, half seriously.

Johnny shrugged. "No, it's just busy work." He was glad of something to do. He'd always liked the feel and sound of the metal when the parts slid together, interlocking smoothly. It warmed as the day wore on, so after their midday meal, Johnny donned an extra sweater and then pulled on his heavy outdoor gear once again.

Scott looked at Johnny's bulky clothing and said with a smirk, "I hope a hunter doesn't mistake you for a grizzly."

Clamping his fur hat on his dark hair, Johnny retorted, "You watch your mouth or I'll bring you back a grizzly for dinner."

"Have you seen sign of any bear around here?" Scott asked.

"Nah, they're asleep, hibernating like you." Johnny gave Scott a light cuff on the shoulder. Scott looked a little better, but he appeared to still be pretty weak. His color was better, which was a relief. Johnny hoped they'd be able to get off the mountainside before another storm set in.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Murdoch will be wondering where we are?"

"Not yet." Johnny opened his coat to put his cleaned revolver in his holster and buttoned it up again. "He might wonder if we've found ourselves some trouble if we're not back in a week, though."

"We'll be back on the trail by then," Scott said. The cough that followed belied his confident statement. When he caught his breath, he asked in a rough voice, "Are you going on foot?"

Johnny finished his preparations and shook his head. "I'm gonna ride to the other side of town and see what the condition of the trail's like that leads down the mountain." He indicated the unfinished repair job to the saddle. "I'll finish that tomorrow. And you, brother, you are not going outside, right?"

Scott promised so Johnny retrieved one of the rifles and raised it in farewell then went out to saddle up his horse.

Soon the cabin was quiet except for the occasionally popping of the logs in the fireplace and snoring coming from the blond man sleeping peacefully by the fire.

*** tbc


	9. Chapter 9

Evergreen - Chapter 9

The air was chilly but the sun emitted some warmth and as Johnny rode along he admired the pine forest. There were deer tracks all over the place, but nothing to indicate anyone had walked or ridden in or out of the town except for his own footsteps coming and going.

Johnny hadn't gone far when a small figure came out of the woods, heading in his direction. It was the little boy, Anton, who stopped as soon as he saw the man on horseback. The kid wore snowshoes and was carrying something that looked like it was intended for the cook pot.

"What've you got there?" asked Johnny, indicating some small, limp animals strung together and held in Anton's gloved hand.

Anton said begrudgingly, "Rabbits." The boy wrapped his arms around his middle and scowled at Johnny.

"What's the matter, you got a belly ache?"

"No. It's all your fault. Mama forced me to take some kinda medicine to stop me from getting the chuma and she said it was your fault."

Johnny threw back his head and laughed. "Well, I guess you can blame me for that. Me and my brother, too. We wanted you to have some medicine so you wouldn't get sick."

"But your brother got sick," the child reasoned.

Johnny nodded. "Yup." He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the pommel of the saddle. "But that's because he didn't take his medicine."

It took a moment for the boy to digest that information, then he changed the subject. "Where're ya going?"

"Just looking around." Johnny scanned the area and pointed to a couple of cabins nestled in a thick stand of evergreens. "Does anyone live there?"

Anton craned his neck in the direction Johnny was looking. "Not now. They went down to the valley for the winter. My Papa, he'll be back soon even if he can't bring the wagon back." Johnny must have looked dubious because Anton added, "Papa walked thirty miles in snowshoes once, just to come and see Mama and me when we were living over the other side of the mountain."

"He did, huh?"

The boy nodded vigorously. "Uhuh. He wasn't always my Papa. We got married. I mean he married Mama."

"And you think he'll make his way back to Evergreen, do you?"

"If he says he'll be back then he'll be back. If he can't ride the mule he'll walk. My Papa's a man of his word," Anton said proudly.

Johnny laughed. "I'll bet he is." It would take quite a man to climb up the mountain to Evergreen in thigh-deep snow. He wondered if Mr. Petrov had been able to get the Harrington family to a doctor, and if their little boy had pulled through.

He looked down at Anton, whose knitted cap didn't hide his unruly blond curls, and uncertain if the kid knew that his friend - his only friend, it appeared - might not return. When Johnny was his age he'd been running around barefoot in the hot, dusty streets of Hermosillo, carrying stolen bread under his serape, knowing it was the only food he and his Mama would have to eat that day. He wondered where that memory had come from, but smiled to himself. After all, he'd told Scott he didn't steal. Well, it was the truth. He didn't steal any more and besides, he'd only done it to survive.

"Can I come with you? I can show you the best place to hunt," Anton offered.

"No thanks, kid. Not today. Where's your dog?"

As if on cue, the tall shaggy hound bounded towards out of the woods, frolicking in circles in the snow, chasing invisible rabbits. Anton yelled, "Pistol!"

Johnny started and almost went for his gun, having forgotten that Pistol was the name of the dog.

The dog went obediently to Anton's side. The boy greeted the dog with a hearty pat on its back. "Pistol's not very good at hunting, but he can run fast." The dog sat and panted with his tongue hanging out, and eyed Johnny, as if to say he knew how to hunt but just didn't choose to.

Johnny laughed at the dog's expression of disdain, said goodbye to the boy and rode on his way. He guided the horse through the woods where the snow wasn't as deep as out in the open, and pulled up at the deserted cabins. The first one wasn't hard to get in, as the door was halfway open. It was a mess inside; the roof had partially collapsed under the weight of the snow. Johnny poked around a bit but found nothing more than a couple of tins of beans. But they were rusty and not worth the risk.

The cabin next door wasn't locked, but the snow was piled up to the front door and he had to scrape it away with a board in order to gain entrance. Inside it was in good shape and the pantry was pretty well stocked. Johnny found an empty flour sack and filled it with some canned goods, half a can of coffee and some dried fruit, then left some coins on the counter as payment. If he and Scott ended up staying in Evergreen much longer he might have to raid the cabin again for more supplies. He'd go hunting for deer once he'd checked out the trail on the other side of town, and they'd be set for a while. If only he had some tequila he'd almost be happy.

When Johnny mounted up his eye caught something moving just to his left, and he had to unbutton his coat in order to draw his gun. Luckily, by the time it was out he'd realized it was only the boy, who had followed him. Pistol was by Anton's side, and he gave a friendly bark. Johnny called out, "Curiosity killed the cat, don't ya know that?"

"He ain't no cat!" Anton scurried away in the direction of his home, looking disgruntled as he pulled the dog along by its collar.

Johnny urged his horse through the heavy snow until he got back onto the road to town. He had the feeling people were watching him as he rode slowly through Evergreen, but nobody made an appearance.

There was evidence that people had traversed Evergreen's small main street. The snow was trodden flat up a narrow track to some snowy-roofed shacks that perched on the rocky hillside. The entrances to the mining tunnels, with chutes for sliding ore down to a contraption that appeared to be for sorting the findings, were visible. Johnny looked from the general store, which was closed up despite it being in the middle of the day, to the saloon. Nobody was in sight, but Johnny wasn't planning any visit with his new friends right then.

He peered at the cliff face that veered up behind the town, and caught sight of some activity. Shielding his eyes against the glare, Johnny made out a couple of the men he'd met at the saloon, using pickaxes on the rocky ledge. The sound of their efforts rang loudly in the sharp, cold air. Johnny called out a hello that echoed and they turned and waved in reply, then went back to work.

Johnny left the town behind and directed his mount through heavy, untouched snow for about a mile until his horse began to founder in its depth. The road, or what he assumed was the road, headed down an incline and wound around a rocky hillside and out of sight, but it was obviously impassable on horseback. Johnny's heart sank. There was no way he and Scott were going to be riding out of Evergreen any time soon.

Johnny dismounted, leaving his horse behind, and waded through the snow until he came to where the land dropped away. Above him and to one side was a rocky, pine tree-covered cliff. There was snow stuck to every surface, causing some of the trees to bed away from their precarious perch. The only sound breaking the dead silence was the cawing of a single crow sitting on a bare tree limb above and the creaking of the snow under his boots. Johnny eyed the bird but shook off the superstitious feeling it brought and turned to look at the view below.

It was dazzling in the brilliant sunshine, and he used a gloved hand to shield his eyes against the blinding glare. The whole valley spread out below, a dazzling white carpet of frozen snow. As far as the eye could see, the land was white with the occasional darker area where trees grew in small forests. There were some outcrops of rock, gleaming with ice, and way below a dark blue ribbon of river meandering through the flatlands.

When he squinted Johnny could just about make out a greenish area in the distance, below the snow line. It had to be forty miles or more but it might as well have been a thousand. There was no sign of life, no movement in the vast solitude, and

Johnny took in a deep breath of the invigoratingly cold air and couldn't help smiling up at the cloudless blue sky. The flakes sparkled on the trees like little diamonds. Wind had formed patterns on the surface of the drifts that looked like the sand in the desert, and everything, even the icy air, had a purity about it that was simply exhilarating. He realized that he liked the snow and the frigid temperature, although it would be a lot different if he didn't have a warm cabin to return to.

He felt someone watching him. He pivoted and saw the boy, Anton, standing way back on the snow-covered roadway. The kid shouted something at him, sounding angry, but Johnny couldn't catch what the small voice was saying.

"C'mon over and look at this view," Johnny called out, hailing the boy with a sweep of his arm.

"Don't-," shouted the small boy, his voice carried away on the wind.

Johnny stepped closer to the edge and looked down. It wasn't that steep, but the slope was very long and the untouched snow was smooth. Johnny looked back over his shoulder at Anton, who was struggling towards him, trying to wade through the deep snow. He raised his voice to the boy and said, "We need one of those toboggans and we could sle-." The snow shifted slightly under Johnny's boots, and he looked down as he spoke, only to see his feet sinking deeper. He took a step to get away from the edge of the incline, and another couple of steps back in haste, but suddenly the ground gave way.

The snow Johnny was standing on dropped away so abruptly he didn't even have time to yell. Anton's scream was the last thing he heard before being totally engulfed in a mountain of shifting snow. The roar was deafening as the entire side of the mountain came down on top of him.

~ • ~

Johnny tumbled head over heels as the avalanche of snow churned around him. His body was swept down the hill, colliding with hard objects as he went. He tried to grab something - anything - but his arms and legs were as limp as a rag doll's. His valiant struggles were useless against the churning mass of snow and debris. His face smacked into the snow, his gloves were torn away, and for a second he saw a flash of brilliant blue sky when his body rolled, but then he was face down again with icy snow shoved up his nose, a tree limb scraping his face. He tried to get a grip on something to stop the train wreck, to keep his head up and out of the rushing avalanche of frozen death. Just as he thought he was making headway, he was struck from behind with a powerful blow and he blacked out.

~ • ~

Johnny awoke with a start. At first he had no idea of what had occurred or where he was. All he knew was that there was something sharp sticking in his ribs, his face was on fire, there was something cold up his nostrils and in his ears and his whole body was freezing. He opened his eyes and blinked several times. It was dark except for a slight glimmer of light, above and far away. It took Johnny a few moments to understand what was going on - the enormity of his situation - and when it sunk in he panicked.

He wanted to claw his way out but he couldn't raise his arms. He struggled but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't move more than an inch in any direction. That's when Johnny realized that the snow all around him was packed as hard as a rock. He was under a ton of snow, entombed and helpless, and he was going to die unless someone found him soon and dug him out. Johnny took a deep breath, made difficult by the snowpack wedged hard against his chest, and yelled at the top of his lungs.

*** TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Evergreen - Chapter 10

Johnny had no idea how long he'd been buried. It could have been only minutes or maybe much longer. He was wasting time, precious time, just thinking about it. There had to be something he could do to extricate himself. He yelled again, but his voice couldn't be carrying far. It sounded muffled but his ears were packed with snow, so he wasn't sure.

Johnny remembered that the boy had seen him go down. He'd go for help, surely, but would it come in time? The miners. . . they might not go out of their way for a stranger, even if they'd shared their vodka with him. And the avalanche would have made the whole area unstable; they wouldn't risk their lives for him.

Knowing he couldn't rely on anyone except himself, Johnny made another attempt to move. He flexed his shoulders and pushed back as hard as he could against the snow. The effort got him nowhere and he was soon breathing heavily and using up too much of the scant air.

There was a tree limb near his face, so close the pine needles pricked his forehead. Its piney smell was strong in the enclosed space. The tree must have been swept down the hillside and landed on top of him, and it provided a small air pocket that was free of snow. Just enough to give him a little more time to live.

Time to reflect, to wonder why the hell he'd gone on the stupid trip in the first place. He grunted angrily. But then he thought of Scott, lying back in the cabin, sick and on his own. He thought of Murdoch and of home - Lancer. Oh Jesus, he was gonna die in here, frozen deep in this mountain of snow and nobody would find him until Spring. Johnny struggled again, a futile, raging action, a storm against the world and the unfairness of it all.

He'd heard stories about men buried alive, how the moist air slowly froze on a man's face, creating a death mask that slowly and inexorably suffocated its victim. A protracted and agonizing death, but preferable to freezing to death, he thought. Maybe. The cold was so bad his limbs ached and he couldn't even feel his left arm below the elbow. His right hand. . . Johnny sent a message to his fingers to move and suddenly he realized they obeyed his command. The snow wasn't packed so tightly around his right hand as he'd thought and his arm was twisted so the hand rested against his body. He carefully wiggled his numb fingers, and was sure that one of them touched something hard - his gun. His coat must have been torn open, exposing his holster, and his right hand was pressed up against it. Hope caused his heart to race.

The air he was inhaling was getting warmer and his breath was coming in short pants. Even the simple act of drawing in a breath was becoming a struggle as the snow's weight bore down on his chest. Johnny's head was swimming and he forgot what he was trying to do. He closed his eyes. He'd just rest a while.

~ • ~

Scott knew that if Johnny found out he'd kill him, but he felt so much better that he decided to get some fresh air. He'd been sitting around for far too long, and he seemed to have sweated everything out of him that was going to come out. Finally, he was on the mend. If it was due to Mrs. Petrov's distasteful tea, he'd be the last person to admit it.

Once he was bundled up, with very little skin exposed to the cold air, Scott pulled his hat down and stepped out the front door of the cabin. It was getting on in the afternoon, but the sun was warm enough to cause the snow on the roof to melt. After a couple of drips hit the crown of his Stetson, Scott moved away from the cabin and carefully negotiated the narrow, trodden-down path that led out to the road. He'd only just reached the road and was about to turn back when Mrs. Petrov approached from the direction of her home.

Even before she was within twenty feet of Scott, she lit into him. "Young man, what do you think you are doing out here in the cold?"

"Just getting some fresh air," Scott explained. "I'm heading back now." He wasn't about to tell her he felt weaker than he liked, but he didn't regret taking the short stroll.

"You're darned right you're going back." She held up a basket. "More tea, that's what you need."

"Oh no, ma'am, I've had enough-"

"Don't you tell me 'no', Mr. Lancer. If you know what's good for you, you will drink a cup of my tea every four hours and don't stop doing so until I tell you so." She tried to usher him with a hand on his elbow but Scott didn't budge.

He looked down at Mrs. Petrov, taking in her wild hair and pink cheeks. She was wearing so many layers of clothing she looked like a rag-picker, but when she returned his gaze and raised her eyebrows, he smiled. Despite their initial skirmish on that night when she had forced him and Johnny away from her home, he was grateful for her help. "Thank you, Mrs. Petrov," Scott said in a gentlemanly way. "You've been very kind."

She was nonplussed and brushed his thanks away with one hand. "No need," she said, blushing.

"However," he continued, "If I have a choice between contracting the chuma again and drinking any more of your tea, I. . .I would prefer not to drink the tea."

With hands on her hips, she tilted her head to one side and retorted, "Who gave you any choice, Mr. Lancer?" Then her features lightened and she almost smiled. "We go inside now and you can have some of the raisin cake I brought you and your brother." She held up the basket to indicate she was bearing goodies.

Scott peered into the basket and there, indeed, was some cake wrapped in a checkered cloth. "All right," he acquiesced, and turned to go back inside. They had almost reached the door when he stopped in his tracks. "Did you hear that?"

~ • ~

Suddenly his eyes opened. He thought he'd heard the sound of rifle fire. Yes, there was another report, sounding far away. He yelled even though he knew it to be in vain.

It was dark in his icy tomb and Johnny felt very much alone. He struggled to move against the crushing weight of the snow. It did him no good. Anger and fear spurred him to fight the unyielding force that held him in its grip. Determined, he summoned all his strength and willed his fingers to move. At first nothing happened, but then his thumb caught the edge of the hammer. But try as he might, he couldn't pull it back to cock it.

Grunting in frustration, his head swimming, Johnny was afraid that he was going to lose this battle. His face was damp from his exhaled air, and his rapid breathing gave off the only sound in the enclosed, dark space. He was so close to losing consciousness there were stars before his eyes.

~ • ~

Mrs. Petrov halted next to Scott and stood still, too, to listen. "Only a rifle shot," she said. "Someone is hunting? Not my boy. He doesn't have a rifle."

"Johnny went out a few hours ago. . . " But something told Scott there was more to it than Johnny, or someone else, out hunting. There was no reason, none at all, for him to think otherwise, but a feeling in his gut told him that something was wrong - very wrong.

Once more, the woman encouraged Scott to enter the cabin, but he wouldn't budge. There came the sound of another shot; it carried clearly on the crisp, cold mountain air. That time Mrs. Petrov stopped and stiffened. Both she and Scott waited, and just when they thought that was the end of it, one more shot resounded.

"Three shots fired," she said to Scott. "Someone's in trouble? It's coming from the other side of town."

But Scott was already running through the deep snow, around the cabin to the corral. He had trouble opening the gate, it was so frozen. The remaining horse had a halter on, so Scott led it to the shed in order to saddle up. But when he looked around, he remembered that Johnny had taken the saddle inside to repair. In a second he rushed in and picked up the saddle, only to find the girth had been detached. "Damn it, Johnny!"

~ • ~

Johnny's body was shaking from the cold - long, drawn out shudders. He concentrated and used his last ounce of willpower to fight the numbing cold in order to pull the hammer back. After what seemed a lifetime he was able to force his thumb down and he heard the click when the hammer retracted and the cylinder revolved. It was a sweet sound, but unless he could get a finger on the trigger this was the end of the road.

~ • ~

Mrs. Petrov didn't waste any time trying to dissuade Scott from going out to find out if something was wrong. She helped him change the halter for a bridle and within a couple of minutes Scott was urging the horse across the untouched snow. The big horse slipped, almost onto his haunches, but recovered, and plowed through the snow and onto the road.

Scott didn't have to follow Johnny's tracks. He knew the general direction his brother had gone in, but once in the small town of Evergreen, he slowed the pace of the horse to get his bearings.

There was a man wearing an apron on the front steps of the general store. He was peering up the road, curious but unmoving, in the direction Scott was heading. Scott called out, "Where did the shots come from?" The man pointed but then turned and hurried inside his store and firmly closed the door.

Infuriated, Scott dug his heels in the horse. As he rode down the street at a fast clip, a cluster of rough-looking men carrying tools rushed out of a rundown place that appeared to be the saloon. Scott was going too fast to stop, but he had the impression they were following him on foot.

~ • ~

Anton stood as close to the edge of the avalanche are as he dared, then nervously retreated. In his hands was the rifle, taken from Mr. Lancer's saddle. It had been difficult to cock and fire the repeater, but one by one, he'd managed to fire off three shots - three shots to signal for help. When a few, seemingly endless minutes passed and nobody came, the little boy took hold of Johnny's skittish horse and led him over to a snowy boulder. Anton dropped the Remington, and just as he clambered up and got into the saddle a rider appeared, riding hell for leather right towards him. At first he didn't know who the man was, he was so bundled up with a big coat and a muffler around his lower face, a cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. Pistol grew rigid and barked madly, but then his tail started to wag when he caught the scent of the rider. Anton was frightened at first, but then saw the light blue eyes and blond hair and knew that this was the other Mr. Lancer. The boy slid off the horse, relieved beyond measure that help had arrived. Mr. Lancer would know what to do.

~ • ~

Scott pulled up his steaming horse when he arrived at the end of the road and saw the little boy up on Johnny's horse. That damned dog was barking loudly, scaring the horses. Scott's heart, already beating fast, thumped even harder. He'd been right. Johnny was in trouble.

Scott's horse was grunting from exertion, spouts of vapor coming from his nostrils. Scott slipped off the animal's warm back and stumbled over to Anton's side. He started to cough and, with eyes streaming, barely able to catch his breath, rasped the words, "My brother? Where's. . .Johnny?"

Anton pointed down the slope. "Avalanche," he said. "You can't go down there!"

Scott rushed to the edge, despite the boy's cautionary words. The once-smooth snow was a rough jumble of icy boulders, disturbed snow and broken trees taken down by the ferocity of the avalanche. There was no sign of Johnny, no sign of life. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "Johnny!" The only sound was the cawing of a solitary crow.

*** tbc


	11. Chapter 11

Note: Sorry, I loaded the chapter from my ipad and posted the wrong one - now ch 11 and 12 are up.

Evergreen - Chapter 11

Scott secured a rope to the pommel of Johnny's horse's saddle, then instructed the boy to hold onto the reins tightly so the skittish animal wouldn't move. He knew that time was of the essence and immediately began to lower himself down the slope. The snow underfoot shifted now and then, but he stayed upright without too much trouble. Luckily, his coughing fit had subsided, although every inhalation of the cold air felt like a dagger being buried deep in his chest.

He was only a short way down when there was a commotion up on the rim. Scott glanced up to see a group of men - the miners - up there, some mounted. A couple of them leaned forward, checked out the situation, and in no time at all, half a dozen men were sliding down the rough, snowy terrain, using their short-handled axes for stability.

Scott didn't wait for them. He made his way down the rough, snowy slope and when he was about halfway down the hill he paused. With his feet braced against a fallen pine tree that jutted out of the snow at an angle, he dropped the end of the rope and took a breather. His head felt as though it was going to fall right off his shoulders, his knees were like jelly and his chest burned fiercely, but Scott swore he would look for his missing brother if it killed him.

The men spread out. They surveyed the situation and prodded the snow, turning over hard-as-rock snowy boulders with their small pickaxes. One of them, a fellow with red hair that glinted in the brilliant sunlight, made his way quickly to Scott's side. He nodded and said, "I am Grigori. Anton says Lancer went down with the avalanche. You know where he is?"

"No. No!" Scott looked across the broad, rough surface of the slide area and realized, with a sinking heart, how hopeless it was. He shouted, "Johnny! Where are you?"

A few more miners appeared up on the crest, one of them a very large man with a large bundle of sticks under his arm. The big man shouted down a question to Grigori, speaking in a foreign tongue.

"Hurry," Grigori called. With a sweep of his arm, he encouraged the new arrivals to come down and help. They negotiated the slope with caution, and Scott realized the whole hillside was probably unstable. They were all risking their lives to help a man they barely knew, he thought.

Anton stood perilously close to the edge, apparently holding back his eager dog. Pistol appeared ready to leap down the avalanche area, but the boy wasn't giving the dog any choice but to stay with him.

Grigori turned to Scott and said with a smile, "Kozyawl, he has brought long sticks. With those we can poke in snow." He made a descriptive motion. "Find your rancher friend, no?"

For a few seconds Scott didn't know what to say, but along with relief came confidence. "Yes, we'll find him! He's my friend, but he's my brother," he said.

The redheaded man gave Scott's arm a pat. "We will find your brother, then."

But, Scott wondered, would they find Johnny still alive?

The big man came sliding down the hillside last, a big bundle of long, thin stakes in hand. The miners joined him and they all made their way to Scott and Grigori's position. Each man took a stake and they fanned out in all directions. Scott took one, too, and moved down the hillside in concert with the men who, luckily, seemed to have some experience at looking for avalanche victims.

The dozen men milled around, giving each other directions as they prodded the snow and turned over snowy boulders with their small pickaxes. They had only been at it for a few minutes when one of them looked up and shouted an alarm.

Scott squinted against the glare of the sun and saw a tall figure, dressed from head to toe in furs, with snowshoes strapped to his boots, approaching from below.

From up on the rim, Anton's voice carried in the cold mountain air. "Papa!" He cried out again, louder. "That's my Pa!"

The miners stopped what they were doing and were poised as if ready to take flight. A couple of them backed away.

Alarmed that the miners might give up the search so easily, and seeing no reason for their fear, Scott ordered, "Halt!" The men didn't heed him, but retreated several steps. One miner clambered up the slope on his hands and knees, a look of abject fear coloring his features. Kozyawl alone stood his ground and faced the man who headed straight towards him.

Scott took in the high cheekbones, hawk nose and piercing blue eyes of the bearded man, as well as his head-to-toe garb made up of a variety of animal skins: fox, beaver and coyote, from the look of it. So this was Sergei Petrov, the trapper. The man made an imposing figure, no doubt, but Scott saw nothing to cause overt alarm. He worked his way across the rough snow to Kozyawl's side to face the man.

Pistol escaped the boy's grip and bounded down the steep slope, barking madly. He launched himself at the Petrov, thrilled to see him return. The newcomer calmly pushed the dog down and gave him a stern command to stop jumping. Pistol obeyed, whining. Petrov yelled up to the boy to stay where he was, looked briefly at the miners, then focused his attention on Kozyawl. He asked bluntly, "What's going on here?"

Kozyawl, who matched the fur-clad trapper pound for pound, suddenly seemed smaller in stature. He pointed towards Scott with one beefy hand. "This one, Petrov, he has brother under the snow."

"My brother is buried here somewhere." Scott said urgently, "We have to find him, and fast!"

The big trapper nodded and asked loudly in a heavily accented voice, "So who is running this rescue? You, Kozyawl?"

Surprisingly, the beefy bartender backed down and deferred to the fur-clad man. "No, Petrov. You have most experience."

Within a minute, Sergei Petrov had the men organized in a line and they started poking their long stakes into the snow in search of Johnny's body. Petrov, still wearing his snowshoes, was at the end of the line, next to Scott. Petrov asked, "How long has he been missing?"

Scott coughed a few times, then said hoarsely, "I don't know. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe thirty." Maybe more, he thought. Even as he spoke, Scott could see in the trapper's eyes that there was little hope of recovering a live man.

Stepping forward, Petrov stuck the long stick deep into the snow, never breaking his rhythm, and intoned, "Anyo holodnyo vadyeh. It is cold in Hell."

~ • ~

Johnny knew his only hope lay in firing the gun. Maybe whoever had fired the rifle was close enough to hear it. He'd been able to cheat, or shoot his way out of bad situations more times than he could count, and he'd half-expected death most of those times. But this, buried alive under snow, with his hand on his revolver and no clear target, was the last way he'd ever thought he would go. Funny, he thought, almost laughing at the irony of it.

It took more and more effort to keep breathing. Johnny's chest heaved as it drew in the spent air, each breath bringing him one moment closer to death. Visions flashed before his eyes, faces of nameless men who had died at his hand; the image of a smiling blond man who called him brother and a big man who declared his love for his son. The light grew dimmer and Johnny felt a sense of lethargy creeping through his limbs. Sleep beckoned and a weightless feeling overcame him. His last thoughts turned to his brother. Scott . . .Scott, he had almost forgotten his brother. No, he would never forget Scott.

~ • ~

They had crossed the wide swath of destruction of the avalanche's path, and were working their way back again, when Scott stumbled on a pine branch jutting out of the hard-packed snow. His initial burst of energy had long gone and he hardly knew how to place one foot in front of another. Any hope he'd had of finding Johnny alive had also gone and it appeared the rescue mission had become a recovery effort. His heart was breaking but he kept on sticking the stake, gripped in his cold hands, into the snow, trying valiantly to keep some faith.

The men, working tirelessly side-by-side said words of encouragement to him and to each other, but they all knew it was hopeless. Scott coughed several times, and had to bend over when he couldn't breathe and started to choke.

Grigori stopped to pat Scott on the back while the others continued on their course. The men walked slowly and methodically across the snowy terrain, every insertion of their stakes full of hope, every withdrawal bringing dejection.

Scott bent over, his hands on his thighs as he fought to regain his breath. After a couple of minutes, the coughing subsided enough for him to stand straight once again. He wiped his face with his damp leather glove and was about to move on when a hand on his arm halted him.

Grigori gave a half-hearted smile and offered Scott a hipflask. "You drink. Good for you."

Even from a foot away Scott could smell the vapor rising from the vodka in the flask. He accepted the goodwill gesture and took a deep drink. The vodka burned all the way down to his stomach and left a feeling of intense warmth all through his body. He could feel his chest becoming warm and his cheeks reddening. Scott returned the flask, saying huskily, "Thanks," and joined the search once again.

He poked the stake into the snow just in front of him and hit something solid. It had a little bit of give to it and for a second his heart jumped, but then he thought - it's just a tree limb. A piney scent lingered on the cold air. Scott had never felt so helpless or so close to weeping. Then rage slowly worked its way to the surface. Damn it, I'm not giving up on you, Johnny! Scott took a step in the direction of the miners, intending to catch up with them and join up with their neat column once again.

~ • ~

Johnny's head ached from the lack of oxygen and he knew it was only a minute before he passed out, this time for eternity, but then he heard the bark of a dog. It had to be that boy's dog, Pistol. Pistol. Gun. Have to let them know I'm here. I'm here! Down here! Get me the hell outta here! Why haven't they got me out? Maybe they don't know I'm down here. . .Oh my God they don't know I'm buried down here. Gotta get out. Gotta get my finger on the trigger. . .

With renewed determination Johnny forced his index finger into the holster and finally got it around the freezing metal trigger. Now to pull it. There was snow inside the holster, and his finger was so numb with cold he wasn't sure if he had a good enough grip. With his luck he would shoot his own foot off. With a supreme effort Johnny tried to point the weapon, still in its leather sheath, away from his leg. Not that it mattered at this point. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the trigger.

The report of the gun was muffled by the snow and he feared the effort had been a waste of his remaining energy, but he'd tried. Damn it, he'd tried, he thought, as he gasped his final, useless breath and blacked out.

~ • ~

Suddenly there was a gunshot and an explosion of snow erupted in the air right where Scott had just been standing. He pivoted so fast his head swam and Grigori jumped back and fell. In a second, they had both scrambled to the spot where the shot had come from, and were digging energetically with their hands. "I hope he doesn't shoot again," said Grigori, grinning despite the danger. Scott silently agreed.

The other men, startled, stood stock-still for a moment, then rushed over to help. Grigori took a rock pick from his belt and handed it to Scott, then he and the other men began to dig - none so vigorously as Scott. Within a couple of minutes his arms ached and another coughing fit had him bending over, unable to continue. He was helped to his feet, and as he recovered Scott watched the rescue effort intently.

It was Kozyawl who stepped in to take over, although Scott was afraid that he might accidentally harm the buried man if he hit him with his pickax. The bartender was an experienced miner, though, and every blow he made was accurate and sure. Soon he'd dug several feet down on his own, working steadily. Suddenly he halted, tossed his tool out of the way and began to dig with his hands.

Scott leaned over, anxious to see if Kozyawl had discovered Johnny, and in what state. In case Johnny was able to hear him, Scott called out, "Hang in there, Johnny! We're coming!"

There was no reply.

The dog pushed his way through the circle of attentive miners and watched the activity with interest. Petrov had to keep a hand on the tall hound's collar to prevent the eager animal from jumping into the snowy hole to help Kozyawl with the excavation.

There was a sound of metal, a jingle.

Pistol barked at it.

The big man stopped his digging, his whole body tensing. Scott leaned over and saw something dark sticking out of the snow. It took him a moment to comprehend that he was looking at the heel of a boot. It was Johnny's - clearly identifiable by its Mexican spur. The silver rowel glistened in the sunlight.

Scott's excitement was tempered by abject fear that Johnny was no longer alive. It had been a very long time since he'd heard the three rifle shots that Anton had fired as a plea for help. Far too long.

~ • ~

They all worked furiously to recover the man who had been buried alive, but when they finally pulled him out, the miners shook their heads and stood back. Johnny still wore the big fur hat, though his gloves were gone and his body was caked with packed snow. His face bore scratches and scrapes, but he was so pale and blue, he appeared to be gone. Someone passed a tarp and blanket down and they laid Johnny's stiff body upon it.

Scott sunk to his knees and gave his brother's shoulders a shake. "Wake up, Johnny. C'mon, wake up," he pled. He carefully wiped snow away from Johnny's eyes and nose. A sympathetic hand touched Scott's shoulder, but he shook it off. "Get some blankets," he ordered angrily. "Get him up to the top, into some shelter." They did as he said and wasted no more time.

When they had carried Johnny up to the top of the long, snowy hill, a difficult and, at times, precarious climb, Mrs. Petrov was there to meet them with a horse and sleigh. It was a rough conveyance, obviously intended to carry ore, but Scott clambered into its bed and accepted his brother's cold body into his arms. Grigori, Sergei Petrov and Anton jumped onto the sleigh, too, and they immediately headed for the cabin.

Behind them galloped the dog, enjoying the excitement of the moment, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as if it was all one big adventure.

***tbc


	12. Chapter 12

Evergreen - Chapter 12

During the seemingly endless sleigh ride back to the cabin, Scott held his brother tightly within his arms.

Johnny was wrapped up in the tarp and blankets that Mrs. Petrov had the foresight to bring along. Incongruously, he still had on the big fur hat that he had been wearing when he'd set out earlier that day. The back of his head rested on Scott's chest, and lolled from side to side with every bump they drove over, causing the fur to brush against Scott's chin.

From his point of view all that Scott could see, beyond the hat, was his brother's closed eyes, with dark lashes resting on his pale cheeks. Halfway to the cabin Scott realized, with intense relief, that Johnny's skin was losing its blue tinge and was turning pinker with every passing minute. The fresh air seemed to be reviving him, and Scott wondered if his brother's lifelessness was due to suffocation and not from being frozen.

He could feel the slight rise and fall of Johnny's chest under his arms, but the breaths seemed to be very shallow. "Hang in there, Johnny," Scott said. Johnny gave no sign that he heard the words of assurance, but saying them aloud made Scott feel a bit better. "You'll be fine, Johnny, just fine. Isn't that what you're always telling me?" Scott gave a half-laugh but it caught in his throat.

A few minutes later Mrs. Petrov pulled the sleigh up to the cabin, and as soon as they came to a halt Scott quickly moved to the rear of the conveyance. He jumped down and pulled his brother's limp body to the edge, preparing to pick him up in order to get him into the warm cabin immediately.

Sergei was by his side in an instant. "We must handle him gently," he instructed. "You must not alarm the heart." Mrs. Petrov sent Anton running ahead to open the door of the cabin that the Lancer brothers had made their temporary home. Scott wasn't sure what Sergei had meant, but he paid heed to his warning and together they moved Johnny into the cabin, taking care to be gentle.

Just as they got inside, Pistol ran up and wanted to come inside, but they shut the door on him. The dog barked once, then settled down on the front step with a whine.

~ • ~

By the time they placed Johnny on the single bed in front of the fireplace, Scott was about to collapse. His reserve of energy was long spent and he desired nothing more than to drop to the floor and sleep. Instead he removed Johnny's boots, and then his gun belt. The leather was marked with gunpowder from the pistol being fired while still within its holster. Looking at it, Scott knew that if Johnny hadn't made that wild shot they wouldn't have discovered him until it was too late - they would have found a dead man, that was for sure.

Mrs. Petrov gave Anton the job of stoking the low-burning fire while she hustled over to the pot-bellied stove and added more wood to it. Soon she was boiling water in a kettle and stirring something in a pot. She took a moment to fetch a couple of bricks from the hearth and placed them on the stovetop to heat. When she saw Scott rubbing Johnny's cold feet, Mrs. Petrov stopped to say to him, "Don't touch his feet or hands. I will take care of them. His body needs to be warmed first. Cover him up with those blankets for now while I warm some others by the stove."

Sergei went out into the shed and brought back an armload of wood. Anton followed his father, asking questions and carrying a box of kindling. "Papa, did you see Peter when you were gone? Did his Ma and Pa go down to the valley with you? Is Mr. Lancer gonna die?"

Outside, Pistol started howling, so Sergei gave Anton a task to keep him busy. "Take the dog home, boy, lock him in the barn and then come back here." Anton looked rebellious for a few seconds, as if he didn't want to miss anything, but then he complied.

They removed Johnny's wet clothing down to his underwear and then Scott covered his brother with several layers of blankets and the comforter that Johnny had been sleeping on just the night before. Scott couldn't take his eyes off the pale face. Although his color seemed to have improved a little, Johnny remained dead to the world. Scott looked to Sergei to give him some sign of hope. "What can we do for him?"

"We warm him up and wait," Sergei said with a shrug. He tossed a small log on the blazing fire. "If he awakes, we give him a warm drink. That is all we can do." Scott hovered, worried, so Sergei pulled back the blankets. He took hold of Scott's hand and guided it to touch the unconscious man's chest.

When Scott felt how cold his brother's flesh was under his palm, the gravity of Johnny's condition hit home. He had expected Johnny to revive once they were safely in the warm house. "His heart is barely beating," he said in anguish.

Scott began to withdraw his hand, but Sergei assured him, "You wait. It is slow, like cold molasses, but there is still blood flowing in this man. We have a saying back in the old country. Where there is hope there is life."

Mrs. Petrov called from the kitchen, "No, no, Sergei, it is where there is life there is hope." She brought over a cup of hot water. "See if you can get some of this between his lips," she said, then returned to the stove.

Scott lifted Johnny's head and carefully poured some of the warm water between his lips, but more seemed to run down his chin than made it into his mouth. He gave up and instead pulled a chair up to sit close to Johnny. How had they ended up in this little town, and in such a mess, he wondered. Somehow, being so far from home made everything seem so much worse. He almost laughed. How could anything be worse than this? Here was Johnny, barely clinging to life, having been frozen and deprived of life-giving air for who knows how long.

Even if he survived, there was a chance Johnny's extremities would be irreparably damaged. Scott knew enough about frostbite to shudder at the images that flashed through his mind of fingers and toes turning black and being lost, due to the cold. After some time, a nudge against Scott's shoulder brought him out of his morbid reverie.

Sergei held out two heated bricks wrapped in cloth. "Lift up his blankets." Scott did as he was instructed and watched the big man place a brick on either side of Johnny's torso.

Mrs. Petrov brought the men cups of hot coffee and went back to whatever she was doing in the kitchen area. Soon the front door opened a few inches and Anton slipped in. He eyed Johnny's still figure and went to his mother's side, then talked to her in a hushed tone. Scott looked up to watch them, seeing the woman take a moment to hug her little boy. He could see she had no answer to whatever his question was, but Anton seemed to take comfort from his mother's touch. How Scott envied them.

Mrs. Petrov came over with warm blankets in her arms and a bowl of something she had been mixing on the stove. "You go home with Anton, Sergei. I will take care of things here."

Sergei smiled down at his wife and placed his hand briefly on her shoulder. "I will be glad to sleep in my own home tonight."

"And we are glad to see you safely back," Mrs. Petrov said. "But I have much to do here. His hands need my care. I will be here for a while." When her husband hesitated, Mrs. Petrov said, "You go. Anton should be at home. I need you to bring over my box of remedies and some other things. You do that and then you can rest."

Scott remembered then that Sergei Petrov had walked in snowshoes all the way up the mountain in less-than favorable conditions and must be exhausted after his journey. "I can take care of Johnny," Scott volunteered, meaning it even if he wasn't in any shape to do so.

Sergei, for all his size, was obviously ruled by his small wife. They exchanged a few words in Russian then Sergei nodded to good-bye to Scott and left with his boy. As the door closed behind them Scott heard Anton ask his father, "Papa, Mama says you will tell me what happened to Peter and his Ma and his Pa."

The door closed and Scott could not make out Sergei's reply.

~ • ~

Johnny stretched out, savoring the warmth of the Mexican sun. It sure was heating him up even though it was so dark he couldn't see anything. Johnny frowned at that and he had to think hard to make sense of his situation. He breathed deeply, savoring the scent of pines. But then that seemed out of place as well. He tried to puzzle it all out but nothing made any sense. He took another deep breath and that's when he realized that his hands hurt. Once he noticed the pain it got worse, much worse.

It felt like someone had his hands in a vise and was turning a big wheel, screwing down a heavy, hot metal plate. His bones were being crushed and the agony quickly became intolerable. Every intake of breath was expelled with a groan. He could hear himself moaning and tried to stop, but his hands . . his hands . . .they were being smashed, they were. . .

"Johnny…Johnny," called an insistent voice. "Can you hear me?"

Johnny licked his lips and tried to open his eyes. After a couple of failed attempts he opened them a crack and saw it was daylight and he was inside. He was disappointed to find that he was not in sunny Mexico after all. After swallowing on a dry throat, he croaked, "Scott?"

"That's right. It's me."

Johnny blinked. He couldn't see properly, but when he tried to raise a hand to rub his eyes, Scott held down his arm, none too gently.

"Don't . . touch your eyes, Johnny." Scott was looking down at him, anxiously waiting for him to awaken fully.

Johnny turned his head on the pillow and looked around. There was a fire going in the hearth, a mighty, roaring one. So that was the source of the heat. He took in the log-cabin walls and fieldstone fireplace, and wondered where he was. Scott was there, so that was good, he thought.

Scott slid a hand under his head and raised it enough for him to take a drink of water. It surprised Johnny by being hot, but it was good and he took several gulps.

As soon as Johnny's head rested on the pillow again, he realized it ached. . .a lot. Once more he raised his hand, this time to see if he had a goose egg on his skull, because it sure felt like he'd hurt his head somehow.

Scott had turned away to put the glass on the side table and wasn't fast enough to prevent him from raising his arms, and that's when Johnny saw that both of his extremities were heavily swathed in bandages. Alarmed, he brought up his hands - or the bandages where his hands should have been - so he could see them properly. The pain he'd felt earlier returned: a fierce, excruciating pain. His feet hurt, too, but not with such awful, gut-wrenching agony.

Scott poured the contents of a small bottle into the glass and quickly put it to Johnny's mouth, all the time saying words that were meant to calm him.

Whatever it was he was saying had no effect on Johnny, whose brain couldn't take it all in. The only things on Johnny's mind were that his hands hurt so bad he was going to puke, and that he didn't want to drink whatever was in the glass, but he didn't have the strength to refuse it. Scott didn't give him an inch until the bitter liquid was down his throat. Johnny struggled anyway and tried to clear his eyes by blinking so he could see what was wrong with his hands.

"Johnny! Johnny, take it easy, just calm down," Scott ordered loudly, finally getting through to his brother.

Johnny raised his head off the pillow a couple of inches and asked in a voice that shook with pain and fear, "My hands? What's goin' on with them?"

"They're going to be fine, Johnny. Lie back and be calm, please."

At that moment the front door opened and Mrs. Petrov came in, bearing a basket. It only took her a second to assess the situation and she was at Johnny's bedside without delay. "Now look at the fuss you're making, Mr. Lancer," she admonished Johnny.

Scott said quickly, "I gave him some of the -."

"Yes, well, what this young man needs is a gentle hand, after all he's been through." She removed her shawl, brushed her wild hair away from her face and sat on the edge of Johnny's bed. She took hold of his forearms and raised them so he could see the white wrappings where his hands were supposed to be.

"Your hands are hurting," she explained in a calm voice, "because they were frozen worse than the rest of you. Now that the blood is finding its way back to the ends of your body it gives you some pain. Now, I know they hurt something awful, but soon you won't feel any more pain," she said soothingly.

Johnny looked from the woman to Scott. He didn't even think to ask about what she meant by saying he'd been frozen. Understanding how he came to be lying on a cot in front of a blazing fire had nothing on the burning question he had to know the answer to. He asked in a hoarse voice, "My hands. . . are they still there?"

***tbc


	13. Chapter 13

Evergreen - Chapter 13

Mrs. Petrov looked Johnny right in the eye. "Yes, your hands are still there, and your fingers, too. Now, I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Lancer. You're not out of the woods yet, but I've had more than enough experience with this kind of thing to tell you truthfully that with proper care you should recover just fine."

Suddenly Johnny remembered how he'd been standing looking at the view and the next second the world had just dropped away under his feet. He remembered being swept away by the mass of churning snow, and how he'd been trapped, buried alive, and how he was sure he was going to freeze to death in the dark - all alone. Despite the warmth of the cabin Johnny shook with an involuntary chill.

His gaze dropped from the woman's kind face to the thick bandages that wound around his hands. "Just tell me if they're gonna be all right," he said in a rasping voice. He knew what frostbite could do to extremities and his stomach clenched at the thought of his fingers turning black and dropping off.

Scott saw the fear on Johnny's face and dropped to his knees at the bedside. He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder with warm, encouraging pressure. "I saw your hands, Johnny. They're not that bad."

Mrs. Petrov explained, "I've slathered them with my special ointment to stop the swelling and so they don't dry out and crack. I've taken care of worse, my boy. You should see Sergei's feet when he comes back from his trap line in the dead of winter." She shook her head, but smiled and said proudly, "My husband hasn't lost a toe yet, not so long as he's been under my care."

Johnny blinked several times but found he couldn't bring the room, or Scott's face, into focus. Whatever was in that drink Scott had forced down his throat was strong. For once he was glad of it. The pain had subsided somewhat and had become a heavy throb that matched the beat of his pulse. "I'm cold," Johnny said. This was a cold that seeped right down to his bones and made him ache all over. Funny how he'd been so hot only a short time earlier.

Scott left his side briefly and brought back some blankets he'd warmed by the stove. He pulled back the bed's coverings and laid a warm blanket over Johnny's torso.

Mrs. Petrov made an encouraging motion with her head. "Put one under his neck, too," she said.

Scott lifted Johnny's head, careful not to hurt him, and placed the folded blanket under his neck and head. Johnny's eyelids were drooping. One bandaged hand rose a few inches and Johnny mumbled, "Smells like pine."

"That's because you were buried under an evergreen," Scott explained. After gently placing Johnny's arms across his stomach, Scott drew the extra quilt and another blanket over him.

Johnny furrowed his brows. "Hmm?"

"You have pine resin in your hair. Good thing you still had that big fur hat on. Saved your noggin from being bashed in."

Johnny gave a grunt in protest. "Mmm."

"You sleep. There's plenty of time to talk later," Scott said. For once, Johnny obeyed.

~ • ~

When Johnny awoke, it was light, but he was sure it wasn't the same day. He was stiff and his hands throbbed a bit, but he felt a whole lot better. A deep breath and a stretch didn't bring forth any pain that he would exactly call bad.

A soft, female voice spoke from behind him. "Your brother was tuckered out, and no wonder." Mrs. Petrof came into view, carrying a basin and some towels and other things. "Mr. Scott," she said with a nod, "isn't quite over the chuma."

Johnny followed the direction she was indicating and saw Scott was curled up in a makeshift bed on the floor, a quilt pulled up over his shoulder. Only the top of his head was visible and wisps of blond hair stuck up like a porcupine's quills. Johnny cleared his throat and asked softly, "Is he all right?"

"He'll be right as rain. I put him some soothe-sake in his tea last night and he dropped off right away. Otherwise he'd have sat by your bedside all night and that wouldn't do either of you any good, now would it?" She sat on the bed near Johnny's knees and pulled back the blankets until she exposed his wrapped-up hands.

He looked down at them. They still rested on his stomach and ached dully all the way up to his elbows, but the extreme pain he'd felt earlier had receded considerably.

Mrs. Petrov carefully unwrapped the bandages and exposed Johnny's hands. At first he was almost afraid to see the condition of his fingers, but after a quick glance, he took a closer look. They were red, the color of raw meat, swollen, and throbbing badly after being handled. But they still looked like his hands and all of his fingers were intact. Johnny let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Mrs. Petrov caught Johnny's gaze. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said. She opened an earthenware pot and slathered Johnny's fingers in a runny, white ointment. "This will make them nice and soft, and once the swelling goes down, you'll be as good as new."

He had to grit his teeth throughout the procedure. Once it was over, and his hands were once more heavily wrapped in bandages, it took him a while to recover. When he was able to open his eyes once more, Johnny saw that Scott was stirring.

"I'll get you both some breakfast in a minute," offered Mrs. Petrov, seeing that Scott would be up any minute. First she dipped a small cloth in a jar of liquid and dabbed it on Johnny's face, across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. It stung and when he flinched, she said, "A branch scratched you up a bit. Just missed your eye. I'd say that evergreen saved your life and made a pocket of air for you to breathe." She completed the task quickly, patted Johnny's arm encouragingly and then left him to cook some breakfast.

Scott coughed as he awoke, and after stretching out his long legs he became aware that Johnny was watching him. Scott's eyes widened and he quickly rose with one of his blankets draped around his shoulders. "Hey, how're you doing, Johnny?"

"Fine, now I'm outta that ice cave." Johnny swallowed and added, "I owe you a big one, brother."

Scott pulled up a chair and sat close. He took note that Johnny was looking at a glass of water on a nearby table so he helped him to a drink.

Mrs. Petrov came over and handed Scott a cup of coffee. "Breakfast will ready in a few minutes."

"Thank you, ma'am." Scott turned back to Johnny and said, "More like you owe those miner friends of yours for coming along as fast as they did and working so hard to find you." He looked over at Mrs. Petrov, who made a huffing noise as she went back to the stove and stirred a pot. She pursed her lips but made no comment. "And," Scott added pointedly, "without the guidance of Sergei, you wouldn't have been found until it was too late, Johnny."

Johnny asked, "Sergei? You mean Mr. Petrov made it home okay?"

"Yes, he arrived just in time," Scott said. "He organized the search, and with everyone working together, we were able to find you in time." He smiled. "You should have seen that big fellow…" He searched for the man's name but couldn't remember it. "The bartender. . ."

"Kozyawl," Johnny interjected.

"Yes, Kozyawl. After your gunshot told us where you were, he just moved everyone aside and dug like a madman." Scott drew his blanket around himself as if he was cold. In a quiet voice he said, "If we'd found you even a few minutes later. . . "

". . .I'd have been a block of ice, huh?" Despite his light tone, Johnny shivered when he remembered the freezing cold tomb in which he'd been buried. He shook it off and smiled. "I'll have to thank all of the miners. Once I can shake hands again, that is."

Mrs. Petrov finally spoke up from the kitchen. "Those miners would still be walking in circles if it hadn't been for my Sergei." She looked as though she was going to say something more, but instead she focused on the breakfast she was cooking. Soon she ladled porridge into two bowls and brought them over to the brothers. Scott thanked her and once he started eating he realized how hungry he was.

Mrs. Petrov pulled up a wooden stool and sat next to Johnny's bed. After tucking an extra pillow under his head she carefully spooned some porridge into his mouth. He ate slowly and after a few minutes indicated he couldn't take any more.

"My belly's jumping around," he said ruefully.

"Happens after being so cold," she replied. "We'll give you small meals until it settles down. It takes a while for the gut to get back to normal after being frozen up like the salmon in the ice house."

Johnny raised an eyebrow at the comparison but then chuckled. "I must be thawing slowly then."

Scott hesitated, then asked, "May I ask, ma'am, why there's such animosity between the miners and the trappers?" She stiffened and didn't reply, but he pressed for an answer, pointing out, "Those men almost broke and ran when your husband came on the scene. Now I know he's a fearsome-looking fellow, but there's something more going on here."

Relenting, Mrs. Petrov said, "It's the feud, you see."

Johnny and Scott looked at her and waited to hear more.

She dropped the rolled-up bandage she held into the basin and let out a sigh. "It's an old quarrel, that's all."

But the Lancer brothers' eyes' met and Johnny asked, "If you don't me sayin' so, ma'am, you told me you have nobody to rely upon up here." He looked around the cabin. "And it seems in as small a town as Evergreen, it's all the more important that you can rely on your neighbors, especially in the winter." She raised a shoulder in the semblance of a shrug but Johnny persevered. "Those men might be a bit rough, but they sure came to my rescue without stopping to think about some feud."

Scott asked impatiently, "What's this quarrel about?"

Mrs. Petrov brushed back her hair with a gesture of disdain, but when she saw that Scott wasn't going to let her get away without answering, she stood up. With her chin raised slightly, she asked defensively, "How does any feud start?"

Johnny raised himself on one elbow and eyed her. "You don't even know how it began, do you?"

She looked from one brother to the other, was about to say something defiant, but then her shoulders slumped. "No," she said in a small voice. "No, I can't rightly say that I do."

"Then maybe," Scott offered, "it's time to put it to rest. You have some good neighbors up here, if only you'd accept that."

"Neighbors?" boomed a deep male voice from the doorway.

Scott turned and saw Sergei Petrov step over the threshold. The big man closed the door behind him with a slam. Scott stood and wished he was dressed and had a weapon at hand, but then Sergei removed his big fur hat and looked almost sheepish. When he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and began to absently play around with a button on his heavy coat, Scott was instantly reminded of Johnny.

Scott didn't have to look down at Johnny to know that although he was in bed and defenseless, he had tensed up, too. But once it was apparent that Sergei was not hostile, they both relaxed. Johnny held up his bandaged hands and said, "Glad to finally meet you, Petrov. Sorry I can't shake your hand."

With a nod, Sergei said with a straight face, "Good to see you're still alive. I wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste."

"Or the hard work of your neighbors, either," countered Scott.

After eyeing Scott for what seemed like a long time, Sergei relented, and said, "You're right. Those men are good neighbors. Our. . .distrust has gone on for too long." He glared at the Lancer men from beneath his heavy brows, then shrugged, as if embarrassed. "Like my wife says, who knows how it all began? Perhaps a quarrel from long ago, back in the old country. But we all came here to begin a new life, to be our own men. I didn't think about it until after we pulled you out of the avalanche, Lancer, but it seems we brought all of our disagreements and feuds with us instead of leaving them behind, where they belonged."

Mrs. Petrov moved to stand near her husband, apparently waiting for some kind of sign. It only took a sideways look from him and she rushed into his arms. When Sergei threw his arms around her she almost disappeared inside his heavy fur coat.

Johnny and Scott smiled at the couple, the man so big and the little woman with the messy hair and determined spirit - both generous people whose actions had saved Johnny's life. He put one arm behind his head, careful not to hurt his tender hand, and suggested, "Maybe we should invite Gregori and the other fellows in for a drink." Scott raised his eyebrows, so Johnny hastily added, "Just a little celebration, of course."

Sergei laughed loudly. "I have already invited them over!"

~ • ~

By that afternoon heavy gray clouds appeared and before an early dusk it began to snow. Scott stood at the window and watched the snow falling, thick and heavy, until it grew too dark to see anything. If it kept up there would be little chance they'd be able to leave Evergreen until spring. Mrs. Petrov went back to her own home, but only when Scott insisted that he could take care of Johnny without any problem until she came back in the morning.

They ate the dinner the good woman had left them and Scott and Johnny talked for a while, but soon they both fell asleep. In the middle of the night Scott awoke with the feeling that something was wrong. He sat up and checked on Johnny, but his brother was fine, just snoring a little. He lay on his side with his hands resting near his face, and in repose Johnny looked far younger than his years, thought Scott.

Scott rose, stood in the middle of the darkened room, and listened. It took him unawares, but it eventually dawned on him that the wind had lessened and the noise he heard was the pattering of - not snow - but rain pattering on the roof. He went back to his makeshift bed and fell asleep with a smile, glad of the reprieve.

For two days it rained and when it finally stopped and the Lancer brothers stood in the open doorway of the little cabin, they saw - for the first time since they had arrived in Evergreen - grass. The sun came out and the inhabitants of the little town threw open their doors and let in the warmth and fresh air. The water ran away down the ravine, as Mrs. Petrov had said it would, and the ground dried up enough for Scott to conclude they would be able to ride out as soon as Johnny was up to it.

Johnny was up and shuffling around, slowly recovering. He wouldn't admit that his experience had left his stomach lurching every time he ate anything solid, but Mrs. Petrov had assured him he'd be back to normal in a couple of weeks. "It is from your body becoming so cold," she said. She motioned towards the grassy area outside the front door. "Everything melts with time."

She went back and forth between the cabin and her own home for a couple of days, but Scott assured her they were doing fine on their own. The pump in the kitchen worked now it had unfrozen so water was readily available, and there was plenty of food to eat.

"But you call me if you need help," she instructed as she waggled a warning finger under Scott's nose.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I left some of my tea on the counter," she said.

"Johnny will be grateful, I'm sure," Scott responded with a straight face.

~ • ~

Johnny's feet felt stiff but he had all of his toes, which was a relief. His hands were another matter. They ached, especially in the morning, but he did exercises to limber them up several times a day. Although he had wondered at first, with a sinking stomach, if he would ever be able to hold a gun again, the reality was that was far less important than having the use of his hands for day-to-day needs. At first he'd been forced to ask Scott to help him with some of his personal needs because his hands were nearly useless, but the swelling went down and within a few days his fingers looked almost normal.

Scott applied so much ointment on his hands one day that Johnny commented that he thought his fingers were going to be permanently puckered up.

Scott raised one eyebrow at that comment but continued wrapping Johnny's hands in clean strips of bandage. When he glanced up to meet Johnny's eyes, Scott knew they were both thinking the same thing: at least Johnny still had all of his fingers and could use them.

~ • ~

A dozen miners, along with Sergei, came over one afternoon with a case full of vodka and stayed until the stars were bright and the moon was out. They sang sad ballads and told stories of lowlanders lost in the snowy forest and reminisced about life back home and everything they had left behind.

One of the men became maudlin and started to weep but then Kozyawl stood up and reminded them all why they had come to the New World in the first place. "No more living on bread and water back in Berestenchko, no more breaking our backs for landowners. No more living in shacks and watching our families die so young." He raised a nearly empty bottle of vodka and said defiantly, "This is free land and we live as we choose now. We have each other, we have good friends, old and new." He indicated the Lancers as well as Sergei Petrov and the men nodded in agreement. Kozyawl asked in a stirring voice, "What more can we ask for?"

Johnny looked around at the room of vodka-saturated miners, wearing begrimed, everyday work clothes, with beards and unkempt hair and sad faces. He turned to Scott and asked out of the side of his mouth, "How about askin' for some women?"

*** tbc


	14. Chapter 14

_Thanks for reading and commenting!_

 **Evergreen - Chapter 14 - final chapter**

"Murdoch is gonna kill us," Johnny declared as he packed his saddlebag, taking care not to hurt his fingers.

"I'm gonna kill you myself, if you don't sit down and let me do that," Scott retorted.

"I'm all done, anyway." Johnny looked around the cabin and was suddenly anxious to be out of there and on the road home. He buckled his gun belt around his waist and although it took him some time to get the tine into the hole in the leather, he eventually got the job done. He shrugged on his sheepskin coat and picked up his Stetson. Johnny felt Scott's eyes boring into him the whole time but he didn't look up.

Scott asked, "Are you sure about this?"

Finally turning to his brother, Johnny snapped, "Look, I told you I'm -."

"-fine," Scott finished for him. "I know, you're fine."

Johnny's ill humor faded a little. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get out of here, Scott. I know these folks have turned out to be real nice and all, but. . ."

"You're right, brother. Time to go," Scott said as he picked up a bag with some of the medical supplies and the remains of their food. "We're keeping Sergei waiting." After one last look around to make sure they were leaving the cabin the way they'd found it, the brothers headed for the door.

Johnny stopped on the threshold. "Wait! I want to leave some payment. In case the owners come back."

They had asked Sergei about the fate of the Harringtons. All Sergei could tell them was that when he took the family down to the town at the foot of the mountain, both the father and his son, Peter, appeared to be sick with the chuma. Sergei said he'd left the wagon because he couldn't drive it back in the snow, and he'd turned around right away and headed back to Evergreen on foot. He didn't know how they'd fared. His tone suggested he didn't have much expectation of their survival.

Scott pulled some coins out of his pocket and laid them on the counter in the kitchen. He halted at Johnny's side. "Anything else?"

Johnny shook his head. He was sort of sad to leave, and he didn't know why. He had started out hating the cold and the snow, then had enjoyed his time out in the crisp air - for a short while. But being stuck under the freezing stuff had taken all the enjoyment out of the snow, forever. He wouldn't ever return to Evergreen, he was certain.

They went out the front door to where their horses were saddled and ready. Scott took Johnny's saddlebag without asking and tied it on for him. He then secured his bag on the mule that Sergei had packed with gear for their journey.

Sergei was just releasing his wife after a farewell hug. Johnny said to the big man, "Thanks for finishing up the repair on the saddle."

"It was no problem," Petrov said with a shrug. "Idle hands make the Devil happy."

Johnny said with a straight face, "Well, we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

Anton ran up with Pistol on his heels. The dog let off a happy bark and jumped up at Scott as if to say good-bye. "Down," commanded both Scott and Sergei at the same time. The men looked at each other and laughed.

Anton had wanted to go along with his father and the Lancers, but was not allowed. Scott leaned over and shook the boy's hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Anton."

"I don't want you to go. I thought we were friends," the boy said mournfully.

"We are friends, but we have family down in the valley, and they miss us. Maybe we'll be back some day." Scott reached into his jacket and withdrew a pocketknife. He gave it to the boy. "This is for you from Johnny and me. We'd like you to have it." The boy looked over his shoulder at his father to make sure it was all right to accept the gift, and his face lit up when Sergei nodded his approval. Over the boy's smiling face, Scott and Sergei exchanged a look of friendship.

Sergei, who had exchanged his heavy winter coat for a leather one, and his fur hat for a battered Stetson, mounted up on a big gray. His wife sniffed and brushed her hair back from her face, prompting Sergei to say with a suppressed smile, "Time to go before my woman begins wailing."

Johnny embraced Mrs. Petrov and she told him in a teary voice, "You need to eat more, Mr. Lancer. You are too skinny by far. I put a bit of food in your pack."

He held the woman close for a moment longer, then held her at arm's length to look into her face. "I saw how much food you packed for us. It's enough to last a month," he said with a smile. When she had helped him shave that morning, he realized he had become fond of her.

She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her apron and shooed him away. "Go on. If you stand around any longer it will be time for our midday meal," she admonished. "Or it will start snowing again."

Johnny resisted the temptation to look up at the sky; he knew there was no sign of a storm coming in, but he didn't want to take any chances. He mounted, then carefully drew on a pair of kidskin gloves that Scott had loaned him and settled his hat on his head. The dog barked up at him and Johnny laughed. "Yeah, bye to you, too, Pistol."

As they rode out, Johnny touched the brim in a salute to Mrs. Petrov. They were almost in the pines when he turned in the saddle and yelled back to her, "Just remember, next time some stranger comes knocking at your door. . ."

"I know," she called to him. "I know, don't shoot at him."

Sergei led the way, the pack mule's rein firmly in his hand. When Scott and Johnny reached the road they reined in their horses and waved at Mrs. Petrov, who stood in front of the cabin, her hand raised in farewell. Anton was at her side, but then he suddenly took off, his dog, Pistol at his side. They ran across the field and through the piney woods, keeping parallel to the road. The dog barked happily, and the boy waved as the Lancers rode away.

When they got into town the miners came out to say a final good-bye. Grigori stuffed a well-wrapped bottle of vodka in Johnny's saddlebag. "So you don't forget us," he said.

Johnny shook his head. "Oh no, I won't ever forget you, friends, or what you did for me."

"Then you raise a drink to us when you get back home," said Kozyawl. "Drink and feel it is warm in your belly."

~ • ~

Sergei escorted the brothers down a trail that was treacherous in places, but he was so familiar with it that they had little trouble. The day was already warming up and all the snow was gone. In fact, it was as if there had never been any snow on the ground at all. The fresh scent of leaves and pine needles wafted from the sun-struck earth. It was a good day to begin their journey home.

Early on the second morning of the trip they saw a wagon drawn by two mules coming up the trail. "It's the Harringtons," Sergei said in surprise. He quickly rode ahead and stopped to talk to the couple. After a brief discussion, he rode back up the incline with the wagon following him.

Mr. Harrington, with his wife perched next to him, drove the sturdy vehicle to where the Lancer brothers waited on horseback, and pulled it over to where the ground was level. He stepped on the brake and greeted Johnny and Scott with a serious nod, then helped his wife down from the high wagon seat.

Scott thought the couple appeared tired but not ill. There was no sign of their child, and he and Johnny exchanged glances; they feared the worst. But once the wagon halted the boy popped up from the back, where it seemed he'd been resting. Apparently Mr. Harrington had not had a severe case of the chuma, and although their son, Peter, was a bit pale, he seemed to be well on the road to recovery.

They all sat down by the side of the road and enjoyed the food that Mrs. Petrov had put together. While they ate Sergei and the Lancers told the Harringtons about everything they had missed up in Evergreen.

Upon hearing how the whole town had come together in order to dig Johnny out, Mr. Harrington looked at his wife and raised his eyebrows. "Funny to think," he said to her, "that we almost didn't come back." He turned to the Lancers and said in a slow drawl, "We think of Evergreen as the kind of town where it's every man out for himself. The mining's good enough if a man ain't afraid of some hard work and we make a good living up there."

"But I told my husband many a time," Mrs. Harrington intervened, "that there's some good in that town. And besides, we have good friends in the Petrovs." Mrs. Harrington looked fondly down at her son, who was still eating a piece of pie. "And Anton and Peter are good friends, aren't you?" The boy nodded, his mouth full of food.

Johnny said, "I think you'll find some changes up there now."

"And if the mining doesn't pan out," Scott interjected, "you can build a distillery. That vodka's got one big kick to it." That elicited some laughter and Scott's remark even brought a smile to Mr. Harrington's face.

After the Lancers thanked the Harringtons for the use of their cabin, Sergei said it was time to be going. He clamped a big hand on Mr. Harrington's shoulder and they shook hands. "After I see these young men down the mountain I'll be heading right back. Probably catch up with you before you reach Evergreen." They said their good-byes and went their separate ways, the Harringtons heading up the trail and the Lancers and their stalwart guide trekking down.

~ • ~

They took it in easy stages and late each afternoon Sergei set up their camp, including a tent for the Lancer men to sleep in. "I've slept outdoors in nights that were so cold my beard hairs snapped off," he said. "But my wife will be very angry with me if you get sick from sleeping outside. So the tent is for you."

Scott helped around the camp and by the second day he felt his strength coming back. The weather was good and the scenery spectacular. Nevertheless, Scott longed to be home, as he knew did Johnny.

As soon as their evening meal was done each evening, Johnny lay down in the tent and pulled his bedroll blanket up over his face. "Just to rest my eyes for a spell," he would say. But he was always out like a light and didn't wake up until the next morning. He seemed to feel the cold more than was usual, and still wore his sheepskin coat when Scott had given his up for being too warm.

After a three-day journey they reached familiar territory. The Lancers halted at the junction of the Modesto and Green River roads, thanked Sergei and insisted they could make it the rest of the way on their own. Although Sergei was torn between continuing on, to finish what he thought of as his duty - getting the Lancers home safe - they knew he was itching to get back to his own home. With the promise they would someday meet again, and that Sergei would bring his family to the Lancer ranch for a visit, the men parted company.

Just as Johnny and Scott urged their horses along the road towards Green River, a rider approached. "Hey," shouted Johnny. "It's Murdoch!"

~ • ~

Johnny lay back on the couch in front of the great room fireplace. "I just can't seem to get warm," he said as he hugged himself.

Scott tossed another log on the roaring fire and waited until the sparks had died down before he settled next to his brother. "If I put any more logs on, the flames will be going right up the chimney," he said half-jokingly.

Murdoch stood at the liquor cabinet and removed the cork from a tall, burlap-wrapped bottle. He sniffed the contents and jerked his head back, a look of surprise on his face. With a shrug he poured three glasses of the clear liquid. He then handed a drink to each of his sons and made a toast. "To having you both back home."

Scott raised his glass in response. "I think you neglected to add, 'in one piece'."

Murdoch sat in his easy chair. "That goes without saying." He took a cautious sip, then another bigger one.

Johnny watched his father from beneath his eyelashes. He had to hand it to the old man, who barely flinched at the harsh taste of the vodka.

Scott, meanwhile, noticed the same thing. Only he was thinking that their father had passed his ability to hide his emotions on to Johnny.

Murdoch looked up to see both of his boys eyeing him. He detected a mixture of amusement and evaluation coming from Scott. As far as Johnny was concerned. . .well, he was a little harder to read but it seemed that his youngest son was offering him silent approval. Perhaps it was because the boy was so tired that he let some of his emotions show through. There was something else though, hiding beneath the surface, and Murdoch couldn't quite discern what Johnny was thinking. He was about to ask what was on his son's mind when Johnny sat up a bit and raised his glass.

Mimicking a Russian accent, Johnny said, "As Grigori says, drink. . . and feel it is warm in your belly."

Murdoch and Scott drank to that sentiment, but Johnny hadn't finished. He looked down at the vodka for a moment then turned serious. "I feel more than warmth in my belly." He raised his head and slowly looked from his father to Scott. "I feel warmth in my heart and I just. . . I want you to know that."

Scott reached over and laid his hand briefly on Johnny's arm. The gesture touched Johnny greatly. He swallowed hard and said in a low voice, "You know, I always expected my life to be cut short. But when I was up there on that mountain, buried under the snow, cut off from everything, from the light, from air to breath. . . that was nothing compared to being cut off from you. My last thoughts, in what I figured was my last moments, were of you, and of what the rest of my life would have been like. . .what I was missing. . . " He stopped and dropped his head while he collected himself.

Scott put an arm around Johnny's shoulder and quietly said, "We know, Johnny. We know."

Murdoch watched his sons, one comforting the other with such tenderness it brought a lump to his throat. When Johnny and Scott were long overdue and hadn't returned from their trip, and he couldn't sit still any longer, Murdoch had ridden out to see if he could locate them. He knew it was a long shot but he had to at least try. He visualized all sorts of scenarios, most of them situations a father should never picture about his sons. But then he'd seen those two riders approaching. He recognized the horses long before he recognized his own sons.

With both young mean wearing few days' growth of beard - Scott with dark circles under his eyes and a look about him that suggested he'd been very sick, and Johnny with scrapes across his face and holding himself in that stiff way that revealed he was hiding some serious pain - Murdoch immediately recognized that they had both survived something quite significant.

He waited until they got home to ask questions, and once Johnny and Scott had bathed, they sat down to dinner and told him about their escapades in a piecemeal fashion. Murdoch knew they were downplaying their experiences in Evergreen, but even so, both of his sons bore the mark of men who had turned a corner. Whatever they had gone through, whatever emotional or physical difficulties they had survived, Scott and Johnny had come out the other side wounded but whole.

Scott took a deep breath, stood, and went over to where they had dumped their saddlebags. He returned to sit once more by Johnny's side and, with a grin, handed him a slightly worse-for-wear fur hat. "I thought you might want this, so I stuffed it in my bag," he said.

Johnny stroked the fur as if the hat was a long-lost pet. He smiled a little, then a bit more. "Thanks, but I hope I don't ever have to wear this again." He looked up at his brother and said, "Thanks, Scott."

"No problem, brother." Scott yawned and slumped back on the soft couch cushions. "It sure it good to be home." Johnny simply nodded.

When it became apparent that Scott and Johnny were dead tired and weren't going to say anything more, Murdoch downed the remainder of his vodka and stood up. "Time for bed," he ordered.

Scott rose and pulled Johnny to his feet. "C'mon, brother. It looks as though it'll take both of us to get you upstairs."

Johnny accepted the support of his father and brother and took a few shambling steps. "I'm fine, you know," he mumbled tiredly.

Scott and Murdoch exchanged glances across Johnny and smiled. Scott simply replied, "Yes, Johnny, we know."

*** the end

 _Written in April 2009_


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